It Could Be Worse 3rd Season
by Sulia Serafine
Summary: All your favorites, back for the THIRD time! A few changes for the good, but there's always something to stand in our heroes' way. Complete
1. With This Ring

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 1: With This Ring**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13 for rather stupid sexual innuendos. 

~~

Keladry did not notice how time slipped away like falling grains of sand from her fingers. But here she was, sitting in the dressmaker's shop with her best female friend, about to be fitted for bridesmaid dresses. It felt as if only yesterday Lalasa had walked into her life, daring to annoy Joren by asking for a drink in exchange for information. Keladry could still remember the expression on her partner's face. He'd wanted to strangle Lalasa right then and there.

And Lalasa had not been intimidated one tiny bit.

"I think baby blue would be perfect. It's the only color she wears, anyway," Lalasa said loudly, hoping that Keladry would actually hear and speak up. When she didn't get a response, she turned and pouted. "Kel! Sugar, get over here and help me alter your dress design! I can't do this by myself."

The first class DJPF officer rolled her eyes as she got up and went to where Lalasa was standing with the seamstress. They were at a desk, drawing up designs and looking at fabrics. The Carthaki woman laid her head on Keladry's shoulder since the officer was taller. She made puppy dog eyes and pointed at the drawing on the paper. "What do you think? Isn't it cute?"

Keladry made a face. "Um, sure… but do you think I can actually be out in public like that without embarrassing myself? I do have a reputation for being a, um, tomboy."

"Oh, pshaw! It's gorgeous. You'll look wonderful! And besides, I'll draw all the attention away from you. No one will remember you were even wearing a dress," she drawled. "Your reputation will remain intact, okay?"

"You're the one with the remarkable fashion sense. I leave it all in your hands," Keladry sighed. She muttered a prayer to the Goddess and hoped that Lalasa wouldn't take that freedom to mean something that Keladry would regret.

"Oh! Okay, I think we should do _this_ with the sash," Lalasa murmured. She sketched on the drawing pad. The seamstress nodded agreeably.

"Yes, Miss. Quite beautiful. Are you sure you haven't designed dresses before?"

Lalasa blushed and giggled. "Well, _maybe_ just once or twice."

Keladry rolled her eyes. _What she means is all her life._ Her Carthaki friend had once told her that while she had been teenager, Lalasa had studied to enter fashion school, but moving around thanks to her father terminated fashion school as a possibility. Now that she was free of her father, maybe she would take up her old goals and dreams. Or perhaps she was truly content working for Ms. Sarrasri like she was now.

"I have part of the dress already made, Miss. Would you like her to try it on now and we can make the alterations as we go?"

"Yes! This is going to be so cute, Kel. You'll love it."

"Standing completely still on a stool while you two stick pins in me? Are you sure?" Keladry asked sarcastically. 

"We will not stick you with pins. We'll stick the dress with pins."

"Knowing my luck—" 

"Keladry Mindelan! You get that dress and put it on! Right this instant!"

She surrendered completely after that. It was more difficult to deal with Lalasa in one of her moods than it was to take down Roger Conté and Ozorne Tasikhe, combined. Keladry took the dress from the seamstress and headed to the changing room, glad that at least the blue satin _looked_ comfortable.

_After four hours, I bet it won't be._

~~

"You got it?" Kel asked Cleon, who was balancing two grocery bags in his arms. 

He nodded. "Yeah. I'll get the rest and give Neal his share. Want me to get yours from the car, too?"

"Would you? Thanks. You remember the code to my lock, right?"

"Yes, Mother," he replied as he walked away. It was his newest habit, learned from Neal, to call Keladry that when she was in her "maternal mode". She didn't mind. At least they did what she asked them to.

Keladry shifted the sole bag in her arms to rest on her left hip as she entered the code into the keypad. It had taken her two whole weeks to persuade the combination from him, but it paid off. She entered the apartment and went straight to the kitchenette. She set the grocery bag on the blank counter and started putting various food items into the small refrigerator and cabinets.

"Hey! You awake? Oh, come on. I know you're awake," she called.

"Of course I am. I heard you open the door."

She tucked a lock of light brown hair behind her ear. Keladry entered the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Joren laid with his eyes closed. His hands were folded behind his head and the bed sheets covered him from the waist down. She could tell he was still only wearing a white ribbed tank top and black sweatpants. 

"Have you budged at all this morning?"

"Does it look like I have?" he yawned.

"Why lie here if you're awake?"

"I'm thinking."

She scooted closer and smirked at him. "About what?"

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her. He shrugged slightly and closed his eyes again. "What I always think about."

Keladry rolled her eyes. "Whenever you do that, you get sad and depressed. Come on. Get up. I brought your stupid groceries and I don't even get a thanks."

"Oh, fine. C'mere," he slurred and held his arms out to her. She lied down beside him, her feet dangling off the side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around her and yawned again. Instinctively, he tucked her head beneath his chin. The warmth of his bed and his body tempted Keladry to doze off as well.  "Hmm," he sighed. "I could lie like this for days."

"Unfortunately for you, Raoul wants a favor in about an hour."

"You always have to spoil the mood, don't you?" he groused.

Keladry chuckled against his neck. "Hey, someone has to keep you on your toes. Get up. You have work."

"Oh, please. Do I look like someone responsible to you?"

"No," she replied with some truth. She sat up again and left his side. It didn't take too long for her to find his uniform in his closet among the other dark shaded clothing. She threw it onto his stomach and waited for him to respond. "Come on, Joren! Get up!"

"I'm going! Stop nagging," he groaned and finally sat up. He muttered something incoherent and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He yanked his uniform over the undershirt he had, but he had to get out of his sweatpants before he could do the rest. Keladry retreated back to the kitchen to get some food out. Otherwise, she knew he'd skip breakfast and lunch altogether.

Dressed but still not fully awake, he exited his bedroom and stood at the counter for her approval. She pointed to his head. "Shave, wash, brush… and comb your hair, too"

He rolled his eyes upward, muttered something again, and returned to his room. Keladry laughed quietly. After some major effort on both their parts, they had settled into a comfortable routine. Joren was really trying to settle into a normal life again. But every now and then, she would catch him staring out the window, like he wanted to kill himself.

She had suggested once that a therapist might help him, but Joren stubbornly refused. His obstinacy over that subject remained unmoved to that very day. As a consequence, Keladry had asked him to talk to her when he was bothered. He did, but she felt like he was still holding back. It was times like those when she still felt like he was a stranger.

_It takes time. He said it from the beginning that it would take time. We've come this far, haven't we?_ She brushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the food in front of her. While she was pouring the skim milk, Joren came out again, neater in appearance.

"Happy?"

"Quite."

He sat down on one of the stools and reached for a fork. He smirked at the selection of food. "Just my luck—I had to end up with a health nut. I see you've got most of the basic food groups here. How fan-freaking-tastic."

"You're not leaving until you finish it all and it won't be my fault if Raoul gets mad at you--"

He leaned across the counter and kissed her to shut her up. When he let go, he winked at her. "All the nourishment I need is right here."

Keladry smiled knowingly back at him. "As smooth as that sounds, you're not worming your way out of this one. Finish your food."

"Damn. Can't get past you anymore," he mumbled and started to eat.

Keladry also found a stool and sat across from him. She reached for his pager, lying abandoned on the counter. Just as she suspected, Raoul had paged him half an hour ago. She set it back down, hoping he would pick it up without her having to remind him. 

"What are you doing today?" he asked between bites.

"Going with Lalasa for her final fittings."

Joren snickered. "Oh, yeah. That thing." He sipped from his milk. "I suppose there will be an opportunity for me to ditch." He paused and looked at her. "For _us_ to ditch?"

"I'm the maid of honor. Does it look like I can ditch?" Keladry replied. She liked the idea of sneaking away with him, but obligations came first. She blushed to a faint pink. It was still unnerving to hear him flirt like that, as if she was still a nervous teenager. He did it sometimes on purpose, just to get a reaction out of her.

"Do you even own a tux?" she asked.

"Me? Of course not. I'm taking one that Dom's grown out of. It fits me fine. I'd never stoop so low as to spend money on something I'm never going to use again." He paused and smirked mischievously. "By the way, did you get fitted for _your_ dress?"

Kel fidgeted. "Yes, but I don't have a choice. I can't borrow a dress from someone else like men can borrow tuxedos because all of the bridesmaids have to wear the same thing. It's not fair."

"Whoever said life was fair?" Joren retorted.

"Oh, shut up, you. You're lucky that you scared Roald out of putting you in the procession with the rest of us. I still have to practice marching down the isle in line with everyone else. If you ask me, the whole ritual is antiquated and stupid! If I ever had a wedding, it would be—Joren?"

The blond pounded on his chest with his fist. He swallowed hard and glared at her. "Don't _say_ that! Are you _trying_ to kill me?"

Marriage had been a very "off limits" subject for them. Keladry was quite content with the status they had achieved, while she observed that he was dead set on keeping it that way. Although he had had many harsh experiences, he was still susceptible to the fears of commitment that all men suffered. Keladry didn't mind. It made her laugh to think that he was also like any normal guy in that respect.

Joren finished the rest of his food and milk. He got off his stool and put the dishes in the sink himself, running water over it to keep whatever traces of food were left from sticking to the plate. He turned back to Keladry, leaning his hands on the counter at each side of her. 

"Anyway, let's not talk about that. Do I get to _see_ this dress of yours before Sunday?"

"What are you getting at?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing big. Can't I act like any other Joe and want to see you in your nice, frighteningly expensive gown?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure the dress wouldn't survive to see the weekend if your prowling hands were near."

"If it gets in the way, it's a tragic casualty. Not _my_ fault." He grinned and leaned forward.

Keladry put a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away. "Right… Why don't you go report to Raoul now, huh Bond? You can charm your way around in a tux later."

"I don't know how the bastard did it. Saving the world in style like that. That's why he's only in the movies. I hate tuxedos," he grumbled. He went back to his room for his leather jacket and keys. When he exited again, he came back to her and reached past her for his pager.

"Lock up for me, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"Great," he murmured and snuck one last kiss before breezing out the door. Keladry sighed and glanced at his dishes in the sink. 

She hopped off the stool. "Right. Just because he has sex appeal doesn't mean he can't do his own dishes."

~~

She decided that she detested weddings. Keladry despised them. She was very glad for those who had found love and were willing to commit to it. At the same time, the young woman pondered why this commitment had to be celebrated in such a gaudy fashion. The flowers, the lace… the excessive amount of purple and green _chiffon_. Oh, and she did not even want to think about the strong scent of lavender everywhere she turned.

Her fellow officers seemed to be under the same impression. She watched Cleon and Neal try to pay attention to the priest performing the ceremony. Their noses twitched from the aromatic atmosphere and they both clawed at their tight collars when they thought no one was looking.

On the other hand, those of Keladry's gender were for the most part gazing happily (and albeit, enviously) at Lalasa and Roald. The few exceptions included Buri and Alanna. Buri was more anti-feminine than Keladry; Alanna was only there because Thom had begged her to be his date to his pseudo-niece's wedding. Thom had also been charged with walking Lalasa down the isle. He'd never been more petrified in his life, but turning to his twin sister for comfort and encouragement was a lost cause. She teased him relentlessly and rebuked him for making her fly to Tusaine while pregnant (again).

"I now proclaim you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

With those final words, the couple kissed in the view of all their friends and family. Keladry clapped along with everyone else. She envied Roald and Lalasa for their contentment, but she did not wish any ill will for either person. She decided that the ceremony of their union was in fact an omen for good things to come. Perhaps truly, now, she and her comrades would have peace.

It had been nearly a month since Enishi Yukishiro had disappeared, accompanied by his most loyal followers. In his wake there had been a brief period of turmoil as remaining gangs and syndicates had struggled for the abandoned throne. In the end, they had slaughtered each other until all that remained were lost and confused. 

Keladry thought it was for the better. Although she did not approve of the violent end of so many, she couldn't ignore the positive effects that resulted from it. There was enough work to be had for the DJPF, but Flyndon still found himself recommending transfers to those officers who wanted to promote themselves to more challenging things. Tusaine's criminal reputation would never be as colossal again.

"I think I'm going to cry. This is _so_ beautiful!" Fianola sobbed happily from beside her. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and sighed. Keladry glanced across the aisle at Faleron, who was also getting a good view of his girlfriend's waterworks. He noticeably blanched, even with Cleon guiding him in the march behind the bride and groom.

Keladry caught up with Joren again while he was trying to dodge the rice throwers. Lalasa and Roald were already stepping into the limo, to head toward the banquet hall. Her Carthaki friend had planned on changing into something that didn't take up four persons' worth of space before they spent the early evening celebrating with their loved ones.

"Must we go to the reception?" 

She glared at him. "Yes. No one will be ditching either. Understood?"

He growled. "Should never have hooked up with you. I should have gotten a cat instead." He gave her the evil eye. "A _cat_ would never be so demanding."

The mere thought of Joren and a pet was too hilarious for words. Keladry laughed and shook her head, though he didn't find it too funny. She cast her gaze around her. "Umm… I'm going to say hello to a few people. You go ahead without me. I'll get a ride."

"You can say hello to them when we get there. Like you said, 'no one will be ditching'," he replied and grabbed her arm. He tugged her in the direction of his motorcycle. It would be nearly impossible to ride without her skirt billowing in the wind. Keladry was truly hoping to ride in a car on the way to the reception.

"I'll get a ride with Neal. I can't sit on the back of your bike all sidesaddle-like. That would be sheer hell." When she noted his grumpy expression, she smirked. "Don't be so greedy. You'll have me to yourself later."

"_Later_, I'll be at the pet store, looking for your replacement."

She smirked. Two could play at that game. "Sarcasm makes you look adorable."

"Shut up."

She walked as fast as her shoes would allow toward Domitan Masbolle and Nealan Queenscove. The two god brothers were arguing over who was going to catch the garter at the reception. Qasim, who was also riding with them, watched in amusement. He was the first to greet Kel.

"Ah. The beauty that tamed the beast! I haven't had a chance to talk with you in a while. How are things, Keladry?"

She wasn't used to anyone using her full first name, just her last name or her nickname. She pointed at herself. "Things are very uncomfortable in petticoats and heels, Qasim."

He chuckled. "I see. At least now you'll have a spare dress for whatever other ceremonies you might need to attend." He gestured to Neal walking in front of them, whom had just received a slap upside the head from Dom. "Obviously, it won't be a ceremony for Neal—unless Dom kills him anytime soon."

In the car, Qasim sat up front while Neal sat with Keladry in the back. She studied her best friend carefully. Her hand reflexively reached up and stilled his, which was fiddling with his collar. "Stop that. You're making your bow tie crooked."

He reluctantly lowered his hand. "It itches though. I think I'm having a reaction with the starch."

"You are not. You use that excuse every time."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered and gazed out the window. 

Keladry frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"You're asking Neal, the most melodramatic man in the whole world. Of course something is wrong," Dom teased from the driver's seat. Neal quickly retaliated with a comment of his own that earned a pinch from Keladry.

He winced. "Sorry."

"Seriously, Neal. What is it?"

He shrugged. This time, his hand toyed with his seat belt. It seemed as if he wanted something to occupy his thoughts instead of what was forcing its way into his mind. Keladry hated to see him look so sad. She had no idea what was even causing it.

Neal relented. "So, it feels weird. The wedding reminded me of something. Everyone in the whole city is moving on with their lives… but I feel like nothing really ended in the first place!"

"What are you saying?"

He counted on his fingers. "Oh, come on. First, we had to tangle with Tasikhe and Conté on psycho trips to rule the world and whatnot, but right afterward we tumble into this mess with those Tusaine bombers. Except, they're dead and we still don't know what killed them." He made a sound of frustration. "Tusaine has become the most boring place on earth, yet it doesn't feel like whatever evil that lived here ever left. It's like one huge shadow still over us."

No one said much in the car after that. Even the Keladry had been trying not to pay attention to the ominous void created by the absence of Tusaine's Criminal Kings. She had not wanted to acknowledge the fact that all the hardest challenges in her life had been overcome. From conspiracies to mysterious government experiments, from mysterious mafias and Joren's tragic past… everything had come to such a sudden, abrupt halt that Keladry knew it wasn't true. Neal was right. The storm clouds of past events were still hanging over them, ready to rain down its pestilence. 

"I… don't think it would be healthy for you to dwell on this," she told him when they reached the reception hall. 

The green-eyed young man pointed to where a familiar black motorcycle a few feet away. "I don't think I'm the only one."

~~

As was customary for wedding receptions in Mithros, after the bride and groom had finished the first slow dance together, they parted to dance in turns with their friends and family. Keladry was never much for any sort of dancing, but Roald coaxed her out of her chair and onto the polished hardwood floor. 

She could clearly make out his happy and flushed face though the chandelier lighting was dim. It would have been nice to have someone like Roald as her soul mate, Keladry thought. But no one ever chose who they fell in love with. And she knew she would never abandon Joren, though times might turn cold and harsh.

Roald hummed along with the hired musicians. He watched her closely. It was obvious to him that her distant gaze was not inspired by positive thoughts. In a low voice, he said to her, "Where are you?"

Keladry stared into the empty space over his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered before her hazel eyes focused again on him. "Right back where I started."

"You know, Keladry, just because you don't understand how others could move on, _doesn't_ mean that you need to leave yourself behind to figure it out."

It was cold water on her feverish thoughts. She scrutinized the newlywed who danced with her. "How in the world does that end up on everyone's minds? First Neal, then you…"

His bangs fell across his eyes as he lowered his head. "I don't know. Being around all you officers has made me very in tune to everything that goes wrong around here. Nothing ends, Kel. Just enjoy yourself while you can."

"Oh, by Glory! Goddess' sake, Roald, I'm sorry! It's your wedding day and I'm acting dreadfully. Please forgive me."

The easygoing Vice President's son surprised her again when he merely smiled at her and whispered, "You were forgiven a long time before. Now just relax and enjoy the dance."

Now more than ever did Keladry thank her lucky stars that the people in her life knew her mind. It was much easier to live expressing her emotions and receiving guidance from her cherished friends. Vulnerability emerged from this new lifestyle, but Keladry saw how it was all worth it. Roald's patience, his wife's coyness, even Cleon's playfulness were all worth it.

She handed Roald over to Daine when her turn ended. Her instincts led her to the terrace, where she tried to let the cold wind soothe her. She heard the glass door open behind her. It closed again, sending a gentle blow of air on her back. Strong arms embraced her from behind. Her goose bumps vanished when she recognized her new companion. 

"Why are you and Queenscove so bitchy today? Isran's got the impression that you both hate the wedding and her. Gods, the woman rants on and on… I'm pretty sure she's a real live banshee."

The warmth he provided turned out to calm her better than the icy fingers of the late winter weather. She patted the arm around her waist. Perhaps speaking with him would do more than calm her. Perhaps it would set her fears to rest. "I see that she forced you to dance with her."

"Forced is definitely the right word," Joren said. He released her and stood at her side. 

Keladry wrung her hands together. "Joren, do you still think about… Yukishiro and Liam?"

"Yes. You know I do. Why?" He put his hands in his pants pockets and surveyed the terrace's view. It was a nice plaza, with cold fountains still spouting out crystal clear water. The lights arranged around the bushes lit up the terrace as well. Keladry could see his profile without any trouble.

"No reason. I'm glad that we can talk about things now."

"Now? So what have you been making me do for the last month? Was that not talking as well?" he inquired. His brows lowered pensively over his eyes. "You've been thinking about this way too much. It's thinking that always gets to people."

She sighed and leaned on him. He smelled like fresh rain on a gray afternoon. "So you're allowed to think about it, but I'm not?"

He kissed her hair. "I've been doing it for nearly my whole life. Just let me bear the burden. You have enough things to worry about, like Isran."

"You're still broken on the inside, aren't you?" Keladry asked softly.

His hand grasped hers and gave it a squeeze. When he didn't say anything, she assumed the affirmative and exhaled deeply from her constricting, aching chest. He would never truly stop hurting, and she would never stop hurting for him. The endless cycle swirled them around each other, sometimes easing, sometimes increasing pain. 

She couldn't tell if their conversation was easing things or making them worse. She hated Neal for a brief moment for saying aloud what she had not wanted to discuss for weeks. But now that the monster was here, she couldn't slay it without first seeing it in the light.

"I wouldn't get so close, Officer. The creature might be contagious," a familiar voice sounded from behind them.

_Of all the wedding guests,_ he _has to see us._ She bit back a laugh and whirled around. If she could count on any two people to lift her spirits, it would be Cleon and Faleron. The latter was leaning in an intentional pose against the door. Keladry left Joren's side and hugged Faleron. She grinned. "I haven't gotten a chance to talk to you in days."

Joren glared at the former thief. "Shouldn't you be out somewhere looking for your hat?"

"I would, except that Fia made me take it off. She gave it to Cleon for safekeeping, and he won't give it back." He pointed behind him. "They're going to throw the bouquet. Lalasa is yelling for you to go stand in front, Kel."

"Yes, do catch the bouquet. Then give it to me so I can ram it down his throat," Joren threatened. Faleron held up his hands in surrender and went back inside. Keladry elbowed the blonde as they, too, went back inside for some much needed mirth.

~~

_"Hello? Kel? Pick up, Kel. Please be there. This is important. It's Oranie. I have to talk with you,"_ a voice on the answering machine said. The light on the device started blinking as the words were being recorded. The speaker gave up and decided to relay the message. _"Sis, Conal and Inness are in trouble. Remember how I told you that Inness was doing some research for his university in the Eastern Yamanis? Conal went with him to earn some money. Their plane went down somewhere in the mountains, Kel. We haven't gotten word from any of the people aboard. Please call me as soon as you get this. Love you, Sis. _Please_ talk to me soon."_

~~

Author's note: Hi, everyone. Back into the swing of things, I suppose. I know that this opening episode wasn't so big and grand as past openers have been—it's just not been one of those days, I suppose. The point was that I know a lot of you felt as if last season's ending was abrupt, or unresolved… but you see, that was the point. The events of season 2 loom over seasons 3 and 4, without question. I would have liked to continue them as all one huge season if it weren't for organizational purposes. 

Anyway! Please tell me what you think. We have some strange new character changes in the wake of season 2, and I'm sorry I couldn't get into the mood to develop them slowly and properly, but I think the rest of the season will remedy that rather well.

Until next time! (Which shouldn't be too long. I have episode 2 done already, that's why it took so long to get _this_ out. The two episodes work well hand in hand. ^.^) Ja ne!


	2. Family

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 2: Family**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13 for mild cursing. 

~~

Keladry enjoyed a wonderful night's sleep and an even better morning. She woke up, noting how her feet still ached from wearing heeled shoes at the wedding. Kel stretched her toes and slowly walked into her living room with her pajamas still on. The air in the apartment was chilly. She hugged her arms around herself. 

"I wonder if I have any cereal left," she said aloud. She opened her cabinet and scoured the shelves for something pleasing. When next she turned around with a box of grain cereal in hand, she spotted her answering machine. The light was blinking.

She poured herself a bowl of cereal, retrieved a spoon, and stood at the counter. With a casual tap, she let the messages play. Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn't be too important. A nice, uneventful morning was just what she had in mind.

Her hope would never come to be. As her sister's voice reached her ears and started to relate the horrible disaster that had descended upon her family, Keladry dropped her spoon and stared at the small machine on her kitchen counter.

"… _Their plane went down_…"

She shut her eyes tightly and pretended she had heard something else.

"… _haven't gotten word_…"

It was useless. Keladry opened her eyes and glared at the answering machine.

"… Please _talk to me soon_."

Keladry couldn't believe her ears. Actually, she _wouldn't_. How was it possible? What divine forces had allowed this to happen? She knew it was unhealthy to deny bad events from having happened, but the truth was more than heartbreaking. It was devastating.

She sat down on her couch. Tears were not springing to her eyes as she expected a normal person's reaction would be. Maybe this is what the professionals called 'shock'. Keladry decided she hated being in shock. Even more, she hated her natural inability to express her sadness in this time of crisis. Her fists clenched and unclenched in her lap.

"What…. What do I do now?"

Keladry held her head in her hands. She could do nothing else. Her sister would want her to call. The phone seemed so far away. The strength to get up had left her. So, she was forced to sit there like a lump on a log. Misery had found its new home.

Minutes later, she heard a click to indicate her door had unlocked. Keladry didn't look up. Whoever it was and whatever they had to say could not be nearly as important as her family's tragedy. She was almost angry that someone would dare interrupt her quiet grieving.

When her visitor wasn't greeted with a witty remark, nor acknowledged at all by the woman seated on the couch, he knew something was wrong. Joren moved to her side quickly and suspiciously. Deep in his mind, he feared that _they_ had come back. Were the skeletons in his closet being brought out again by the return of Enishi Yukishiro and Liam Irons?

Joren sat hesitantly beside her. Since she still ignored him, he set his fears to rest. Surely, she would have told him. They were more his problem than they were hers. His hand reached to touch her, but stopped a little short of her skin. It was as if she had erected an invisible variable that spoke 'do not touch me'. He couldn't ignore that. Joren resigned himself to sitting patiently beside her.

When she finally looked up, she was surprised to find how little relief his presence brought her. Keladry wished he didn't have to see her like this. Not only was it embarrassing, it wasn't his problem. Gods knew he had enough problems of his own.

"Joren."

Interpreting it as permission to speak, he asked, "What happened?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "My brothers…. Their plane went down in the East Yamani Mountains. They're missing."

Having never had brothers he couldn't imagine the bond, if any, she had with them. But he had lost his parents, his whole world, at a young age. If anyone knew about loss, it was Joren. Keladry did not wish to show her weakness, but he wouldn't rub this in her face. They finally had something serious and real in common. 

Not that it was anything to be proud of. 

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked carefully.

She looked uncertain.

"Let me rephrase that. If I go, is there a chance you'll do something incredibly stupid?"

Keladry shook her head. She wasn't that type of person. She straightened her back and sat up. "I just… I don't know. It still hasn't sunk in yet. It doesn't seem real." At once, it struck her how ridiculous or horrible this might sound to Joren, whose loss was a billion times greater than hers. "You don't have to stay."

"No, that's not going to help anything," he said. "You're not like me. You need to talk about it."

It wasn't an insulting remark. It wasn't meant to be anything at all to offend her, just an insightful observation. The truth, simply said without bias or hurtful intention. He understood what she suffered, only because he had suffered far worse.

She honestly didn't know where to start. What could she say about her brothers? She'd just about divorced herself from her family in order to focus on her career. The last time she even remembered seeing Conal and Inness was when she came home to see brother Anders' newborn son two years ago. How could she pull together scant memories from her childhood when she hadn't really let herself have a childhood in the first place?

"Do you think they're alive?" Keladry asked Joren.

He frowned. "I'm no expert on survival statistics in the East Yamani Mountains." Seeing her crestfallen response, he added, "But it isn't impossible for them to be alive. If you have a good search team, it's quite possible."

The chances of the foreign Mithran ambassadors willing to send out a search and rescue team at the expense of the country where they were guests was not too great. But the DJPF was in charge of Mithran situations like this. Maybe Keladry could pull rank to assert some influence over the situation.

"I'd search," she said. "I'd do what I have to so they could be found."

Joren didn't want to say anything. He knew the feeling of helplessness that came with loss. As a boy, he had promised himself that he would become strong and learn to defend himself so he could take revenge upon the scum of the world who had killed his parents. Instead, all it had made him was a cold, lonely man.

His natural pessimism told him that a search would be very futile at this point, but she would undoubtedly refuse to listen to reason. He had refused to listen to reason back then as well. This being the case, he merely sat and waited for her to say more.

"I don't know Inness well," she confessed. The corners of her mouth lifted into a small smile. "He was an ambitious student to my parents—we were all home schooled. When he got into the local university, he made it his career. A researcher for the archaeologists living there. A teacher's aide a couple years short from earning his degree. Ambitious…" Her gaze flickered over to him. "My sister Adie said that I remind her of him. Except, I turned my ambition in a different direction that alienated me from everyone. At least Inness came home often."

"Doesn't seem so bad," Joren replied. _Compared to me, anyway._ "What about your other brother?"

"Conal?" She chuckled briefly. "There's a lot to sort through with him. He's what you might call the black sheep of the family. Doesn't go to college, fiercely stubborn about earning money on his own and paying for his night school classes by himself." She sighed deeply. "When we were younger, he would play pranks on Adie, Oranie, and me. But he always left my other brothers alone and he never went near my other siblings—the twins were too little anyway, and Tavin was still clutching Mom's skirt."

Joren let out a low whistle. "That's you and your sisters…. Then your older brothers… Nine kids?  Your parents had a thing about having lots of kids, hmm?"

She blushed slightly. "I guess."

With such a large family, one child gone astray wasn't the center of attention. Her parents tried. And they mostly did an excellent job showering all their children equally with their love. But the older ones had grown up and were expected to become responsible young adults, not as needy for attention from Mother and Father as they used to be. Keladry had never craved attention. Her sisters had, of course. They begged and pleaded for permission to get part time jobs so they had money to buy their trendy clothing. And her brothers, when united and not fighting, would mostly pool money together to maintain a car they shared.

She was drawn out of her daydreaming when Joren stood up. "What is it?"

He patted her shoulder. It was a forced gesture, not as intimate and comfortable as normal. "You should call your family now. Perhaps arrange a trip home."

"Irontown…" she whispered.

His expression faltered. "Irontown? I thought you were from Tortall."

"Oh, no. I just went to the Academy there. I'm from up North, in Irontown."

The newly revealed information aroused an indiscernible reaction from him; she couldn't guess his mind. He nodded to her and moved toward the door. "Go make your call. I'll come back later."

Joren was unsure of what else he needed to say. He knew he hadn't comforted her as much as others would have, but it felt so clichéd to do so, even if it made him appear unsympathetic. She knew how he felt, didn't she? Keladry was extremely tough in that respect. She wasn't dependent on him, and he'd rather her not be.

Out in the hall, Neal was exited Dom's apartment. He saw Joren and was at first inclined to ignore him. This became impossible since he, too, was also headed toward the elevator. Old habits died hard. He was expecting a wisecrack from his fellow officer at any moment.

"You'd better visit her later, maybe with Kennan. She's going to need friends to cheer her up," he told Neal flatly, surprising the older man.

It was difficult to become accustomed to Joren's more agreeable moods. Before he became too wrapped up in the thought of it, he recalled the words. _Cheer her up?_ Neal blinked. "Wait, why? Why does she need cheering up?"

After Joren quickly told him, Neal's distress was magnified by the news. He also knew the probability of the search team's success. Gods, Neal even knew the chances of a search team being sent at all. By the time one even arrived in the mountains, it would be far too late for survivors. False hope wasn't healthy for her, but both men believed that Keladry needed it to calm her nerves. 

For once, Neal and Joren had something in common. Concern. 

"I've being considering something. I'll keep you informed, Queenscove."

"Why me? You hate me."

"You're her best friend, aren't you?"

Neal stared intently at him. "What exactly _are_ you to her, anyway? It's strange seeing you two these days."

"I don't know what we are. Sometimes, it's so clear…" he trailed off. He didn't need to say anymore. Words were redundant when coupled with his disquieted expression. Neal placed his large hand on the other's slumped shoulder. 

"I, um, think it's good. Not just for her, but for you, too. Really good, you know?" Afterwards, he retracted his hand as if it had grazed hot coals. They walked the rest of the way to the elevator in silence, not even meeting each other's gaze. They'd never been close in the first place and the one person they had in common was not there to mediate, even if she were able to do so. 

Meanwhile, the shock was starting to wear off. She envisioned her brothers, trying to piece together memories. Her recollection of them was in shattered fragments as numerous as the stars. They existed here and there, little moments in time like fireflies buzzing around her head in the humid dusk of summer.

One summer had been spent basking under an unusually hot sun. Her brother Anders had driven them to a cool lake just outside of Irontown, surrounded by logs and tall reeds. Adalia and Oranie had run straight to the water. She could see the sweat spots forming on the back of their tank shirts. Keladry, then ten years old, had not wanted to go at all. She had already been convinced of her lifelong goal by this age. Her summer had been scrupulously planned out to the point of doing homework by the open windows and the electric fans.

Her older siblings had dragged her there, almost literally. She had watched her sisters while Conal had snuck up on her. With the help of Anders, he had tossed her into the lake while Inness sat on the edge, observing the scene with a kind and distant smile. She could still remember looking up at them. Anger then, remorse later.

Brotherly pranks weren't so bad, she decided. The boys had paid attention to her, which was far better than being ignored. Maybe it would have been better to play with them. She wouldn't be in Tusaine. She wouldn't even be DJPF if she had something else occupying her childhood.

Maybe she would have had an influence on her brothers' lives. She and Inness could have become colleagues at the local university. She might have persuaded Conal to a different career path. There were too many possibilities to let the mind rest peacefully. It did no good to imagine what could have been. But there was really nothing else she could do.

She reluctantly approached her COMscreen and decided to go through with what she really didn't want to do. Perhaps her shock would wear off completely and Keladry would suddenly break out into tears over her brothers' disappearance. Perhaps seeing Oranie or anyone else in her family in an upset state would drive her straight over the edge.

"Just dial the damn number," she hissed to herself through clenched teeth.

Her fingers itched to end the call as soon as she heard the phone ringing, waiting for someone to answer. The last time she had heard a family member's voice in real time conversation had been Conal. It had been a rare occasion to see him actually sing Happy Birthday to her. He was never much for sentimentality and neither was she. 

Someone on the other end picked up. She came face to face with Tavin, the next oldest of the siblings in the family. She supposed he was fourteen years old, compared with her twenty-one. Her parents had started a family early, with hardly any intentions to stop.

"Tavin, is Mom or Dad there?" she asked. She felt sorry that she never talked to her younger siblings, but now was not the time to make up for it. 

Her younger brother nodded. "Yeah, hold on."

He yelled down the hall in a rather undignified manner for her parents. She would never have done that, and she knew that she wasn't around to teach her teenage brother proper manners. What was the use of thinking about it? She pursed her lips tightly.

"How have you been?" she inquired, using a voice that Keladry tended to use with those younger than her.

"I don't know," he shrugged indifferently. Perhaps the boy had decided to mask his own worry and pain with the same mask that Keladry had worn all these years. She wanted to tell him to act differently, but Keladry couldn't form the words. Tavin glanced to the side. "Here's Mom."

Their mother now appeared onscreen while Tavin retreated. Keladry wished she could have talked to him more, but now focused on the woman who had borne her. Ilane Mindelan was in her forties, but still as radiant as ever. Her light brown hair was graying at the roots. One would never guess that she had still three more children to put through grade school with several firmly rooted to college or job already. The youngest two were eight while their eldest sibling had a son their age.

"Hi, Mom," Keladry squeaked. Now her voice diminished so as to reaffirm the parent-child relationship. It wasn't intentional. Whenever one of her parents was around, she felt like she didn't have to do anything. They would always take care of her.

Ilane nodded. "I take it you got your sister's message."

Her face was tight with restrained emotions. She had been Keladry's private model for self-control and enduring strength. The woman had reared six children already with three more to go. She couldn't be anything else in that situation, or else she would have fallen apart.

"What's going on? Has anyone…"

"We're hiring private DJPF agents to investigate, through the University's authority. They're having problems finding officers willing to go, however. Seems all your adventurous colleagues are at the Roof of the World."

"Mom, I'll go! I'll tell them—"

"You're not going, Sweetie," her mother announced firmly. "You're staying put. I couldn't stand it if another one of _my_ babies…" she couldn't finish, trying to compose herself. Her subconscious knew that Kel had always looked up to her as a rock of strength while growing up. She wouldn't let herself lose hope and face yet. Not until the truth was confirmed.

"I'll come home as soon as I can," Keladry promised. "Captain Flyn will have to let me come home. I can help out there!"

Ilane sighed deeply. "There's not much you can do. It's best that you should try to keep your regular routine so you won't have the spare time to let your idleness become crippling grief."

The words stung Keladry. As wise and well meaning as they were, she could not accept the proposition. "I need to be there. Where the rest of you are!"

Her mother relented. "If you must."

"I'll be home soon. Don't worry about it." She paused. "Tell everyone I said hi."

_I should have said, 'Tell them I love them.'_

"I will, Sweetie. See you soon."

"Bye, Mom."

After the call, Keladry lied down on her couch. The carpet was suddenly all she could bare to look at. She almost thought to force her tears to come, but she couldn't. What kind of sister was she? She hated herself. It was an awful self-resentment that festered in her gut, like a parasitic worm that knew no mercy.

She fell asleep eventually, though she had had it in her mind to approach Flyn that very day to ask for time off. The attractive oblivion of sleep without dreams nursed her slowly, but the dull ache remained. Hours after she had begun her retreat into emptiness, still not a tear had been shed.

Toward sunset, Keladry felt herself being lifted up as if she weighed nothing at all. At first, she resisted, stretching rather than curling into herself. Cool lips pressed gently to her warm forehead, whispering nonsensical nothings so as to calm her. Keladry let go of her body after that, limp as a rag. Whatever happened next, she would not fight it. There was warmth and protection here that she wouldn't find anywhere else. 

Her body touched down on the smooth cotton sheets of her bed. She gratefully pressed against her bearer, pulling him down with her and refusing to let go. There was a tension in his arms, as if he didn't want to stay, but also didn't wish to awaken her. The mattress sank beside her where he also reclined, allowing her to bury her face in the warmth of his neck and shoulder. It smelled of leather and fresh air, like a wild ride through the mountain foothills at exciting speeds that birds in flight could never match.

If she could fly that fast, she would leave the rest of the world behind and never touch ground again.

Neal followed Joren and Keladry into the bedroom, just wanting to be as sure as Joren that their dear girl was taken care of. When he saw that she clung to him and refused to separate, he was careful not to laugh. He grinned instead, shrugging at Joren's glare.

"I'll go and get my things together. If you want, I can ask Dom to do yours."

Joren wasn't sure if that was too good an idea. He didn't want people going through his things, but both he and Neal would be pressed for time now. Time was their enemy; it was their ugly reminder of the probability of things. Probability and possibility be damned, they were going, come hell or high water.

"Tell him not to pry into things he knows he shouldn't be touching," he warned Neal.

"I take it that's a yes?" When he received another piercing look, he began backing out of the bedroom. "See you in the morning, then."

Sometime during the night, Keladry awoke. She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the darkness. How long had she slept? It must have been far more than usual, because her digital clock showed that it was past midnight. Then, she realized that she was not alone.

The person underneath her head stirred, the chest rumbling with some half-groan. She lifted her head and peered at the man's face. Recognizing it as Joren's, she relaxed and assumed that he must have carried her here from the living room and tucked her in, though he most likely did not mean to sleep there as well.

"Oh, you're up. You slept for a long time." His voice was dry and she knew he must have wanted a drink of water. 

"Sorry I woke you up. I always seem to do that."

He stroked her head and shrugged. "I'm getting used to it." He twisted around so he could see the clock as well. "I really have to get going. Some things that I need to take care of…"

Keladry shook her head slightly. "It's one AM. What could you possibly need to do in the middle of the night?"

He eased her off of him and onto the pillows while he sat up in wrinkled day clothes. His hands groped for the shoes kicked under the bed. "I just have things to do that I need for the morning."

It wasn't an answer, but it was definitely a signal to let alone the excuse. Keladry watched as he put on his shoes. She noticed that he had worn good quality black slacks, like the kind Liam used to wear with polo shirts to casual business luncheons. In fact, his plain white shirt was a long sleeved button down with a high collar. Her sight could barely make out the sharp lined creases running down the arms and the pants legs to indicate that he had even ironed them prior to coming here. 

"Where did you go? Why were you all dressed up?"

"Just somewhere. Nothing special," he replied, still avoiding a satisfactory answer. He stood up and leaned over her, kissing her full on the lips. When they parted, he smiled at her. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but you were asleep. The point is that I have to leave town for a while. I just got a case that's a bit out of jurisdiction, but Buri pulled some strings. I figured you would be going home for a while anyway, so Queenscove is coming with me instead."

She snorted. "You and Neal? Was this your idea or Flyn's?"

"Queenscove… um, Neal and I decided. He wants the case. We really don't want Kennan or anyone else taking up the case with us, so could you keep it quiet?"

Keladry got up on her elbows, arching her back a bit painfully in the process. "Why is that?"

"The case isn't too much fun—a lot of grunt third class work. You know it'd drive Kennan crazy not being able to get his target practice." He raised one eyebrow skeptically. "Now must we really play twenty questions, Mother, or may I go now?"

Her hand reached up and tugged him down for another kiss. She breathed in his scent again, committing it to memory. "If I knew you were leaving for a while, I would have stayed awake."

"You're leaving, too, aren't you? For Irontown?"

"Yeah," she admitted. With another quick peck on the lips, she released him. "Go on, get out of here, then. Email me whenever you get there. I can check my mail from Irontown if I go to the University's terminals."

He nodded. With a last brief salute, he departed from sight. Keladry sighed, slumping back down on the pillows, thinking to herself how life was never really going to be the same. It was an insignificant change. Joren would be back. She would be back. But it was the first time they would have parted ways for a long time, and she didn't know how it would feel—how it was _supposed_ to feel.

"Now I know I'm a bad sister when all I can think about is the man in my life rather than Inness or Conal." She groaned and rolled onto her back. Her fingers brushed her bangs out of her eyes. What a long way she had come! But there was yet much road still ahead of her. Footsteps yet to be made. A full life yet to be lived.

_Sounds like a challenge._

She eased herself out of bed and set her mind to packing her suitcase.

~~

In the morning, she hitched a ride with Qasim and Prosper to the station. Cleon and a few other Riders had already taken the squad car there, and Keladry was in no mood to feel the chilly morning air on the back of a motorcycle. As she could already tell, Joren and Neal were gone. Neither answered the door when she came to see them off. Rather than cry over spilled milk, she readily dismissed her disappointment and focused on the day before her.

"I hope Seaver remembered to get those files ready for me before he shut himself up in the lab," Prosper muttered. 

"Have you got a case?" she asked.

"Yeah, but it's a no-brainer. More forensics than anything, and only because Raoul felt like butting in on Buri's turf."

Qasim smirked. "That's Boss, for you. Butting in on other people's turf is his favorite thing to do."

They all laughed. It was true.

Keladry relaxed more and more as they went along. When they arrived, she bid the Riders goodbye and headed up to her superior's office. He wasn't busy at all; no huge problems had dropped into his lap for weeks. The secretary winked at her jovially as she buzzed Keladry in. 

"Hi, Sir."

"Keladry, yes? What can I do for you?" he asked, blowing softly over his steaming mug of coffee. A tiny carton of cream and a couple of sugar packets were the only things on his desk.

"Flyn, Sir, I've come to request some time off. There's been an accident in the family, and I need to help out. Take charge of the situation, you see." She fidgeted. 

He nodded. "No problem. Go file your request and I'll have it approved as soon as it reaches me. I'd take the rest of the day off and pack. The approval should be done before lunch." He paused. "How much time do you intend to take? You can take however much time you need. Nothing big is happening around here, as I'm sure you already know."

"Thank you, Sir."

"As I've said, no problem."

Keladry hesitated to leave. "Sir?"

He sipped from his mug. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if it was in your power to check on the DJPF district for Irontown, up north. I think it is District K3."

"Yes, I can. What do you want me to check for?" he asked, already bringing up the network onto the screen of his desktop computer. He waited patiently for her to respond. The light from the screen reflected in his eyes, making them bright. 

She cleared her throat. "I was wondering if the DJPF there has found anyone to go on the search and rescue mission for the University."

Flyndon didn't touch his keyboard. He looked up at her, frowning. "I thought you knew."

Her lifetime experienced allowed her to avoid showing her panic. "Oh?"

"Well," the captain began, "they received confirmation for two DJPF volunteers and a randomly selected civilian crew to fly at top speed for the East Yamani mountain range. In fact, I know this because the volunteers are two of our own guys."

She dreaded the answer. "And those are?"

"Joren and Neal. They left before sunrise this morning. Most of the expedition is funded by the University in K3, so I'm pretty sure they'll get there without wasting too much time." He scratched his head. "I thought they would have told you, since you are close to them. I guess they didn't want you to worry."

Keladry nodded slowly. _I can't believe they did this without telling me!_ Her head reeled as if someone had sucker-punched her. She hid her shock and bowed to the captain. "Thank you, Sir. I'll submit my request and take the day off, like you said."

"I hope your time at home is without tragedy, Kel. Take it easy," he smiled and waved. 

She returned his smile half-heartedly and exited. She had to get out of there as soon as possible. Her mind was a complete mess, now. The thought of two of the most important men in her life out in the freezing snow of the Yamani mountains, along with the two brothers she never got to know well enough… it was like someone out there was punishing her. But what had she done?

_Everything will turn out fine. _She clenched her fists. _I refuse to let it turn out any other way._

~~

Author's note: Hey, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it! Tell me what you think, via review or email. You know the drill. I know you're thinking, "Keladry didn't have any other brothers or sisters!" Well, you're right. She didn't. The extra three were made at my discretion, just to get the feeling of a rather huge family and Keladry's unwillingness to be apart of it. I'm sure you're missing the comedy usually provided by our resident funny men, Cleon and Faleron, but patience is a virtue! They're not that easy to get rid of. Trust me, I've tried.

Thanks again for reading! Any questions, comments, or whatever, my email is listed at top!


	3. Expedition

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 3: Expedition**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13 for mild cursing. 

~~

The tops of the clouds reminded him of plowed fields with furrows covered in thickly bloomed cotton plants. He'd never seen cotton fields, and he knew cotton could not look as heavenly as this did, but the idea of it pleased him enough to keep it the way he first thought of it. 

He could feel the cold vacuum of air outside when he pressed his hand against the window. The weather as well as the mountains would not be so kind to their heat-hungry bodies. How formidable would these mountains prove to be? He'd no idea of the secrets within its isolated, untouched realm. 

The majesty of the Eastern Yamani Mountains stemmed from the fact that no ancient culture asides from the mountain peoples had been discovered. Unfortunately, these same mountain peoples had long lost their original ways and became one with those people living in rural villages in the mountain foothills. 

The mountains themselves were not at all interesting. They had the same wildlife, if not less, as other mountains in other regions of the world. Neither the weather nor the appearance sparked any curiosity in the rest of the world (more specifically, it sparked no interest in a generation accustomed to technology and virtual living). 

Thus historians argued that civilization tended to grow toward the west and the south, and even recently toward the north (though in a strictly scientific Wild Preserve sort of way). The world on the other side of the East Yamanis was barren and empty. Brave fishermen and oceanographers alone made the arduous trips to the other side, and even they never set foot upon land. Cartographers also expressed no wish to map out the area. Consequently, little of the mountain terrain was ever recorded. The knowledge of the land itself belonged exclusively to those Eastern Yamani denizens.

"So what's our plan?" Neal asked. He sat opposite from Joren across the narrow isle. The plane itself was tiny and its crew, very few. The taller officer had to slump down in his seat to avoid striking the top of the cabin with his head.

Joren lowered his hand from the window. He busied himself by putting on gloves, not meeting his new partner's eyes as he replied, "We've already been over the plan."

Neal frowned. "I know, but there's nothing to do. The crew isn't at all talkative."

"And you think I am?"

"Oh, I know _you're_ not. But you're familiar, at least." He paused. "So let's go over it again. We're landing at the base of the westernmost mountain to refuel and supply. Then we'll employ a guide and fly to the area in which the International Airspace Authority last received a signal from the University's plane. That's when we begin the real search and rescue part."

"Recover. Search and recover," Joren corrected.

"I thought we were going to…" Neal's voice faltered.

Joren looked at him, lacking anger but also lacking any concern as well. It was hard to tell. Neal did not consider himself good at reading people, but he ignored that and became mad at him anyway.

"Do you really think they would have survived the crash? And even if they did, how long would the supplies last? It's been a few days and there have been rampant snowstorms—" Joren stopped. Neal hadn't asked Joren to defend his position. The moment of weakness passed and Neal still felt like flinging the younger man out of the plane. 

"Then why are we even going? Tell me that!" he demanded uproariously.

"Because she doesn't want whatever's left of them to just _lay_ there," Joren smartly answered, feeling that he'd finally said the right thing to shut him up. It was not enough.

Neal glared at him with fire and brimstone close to blazing visibly in his eyes. "I hate the way you act about it. It's like… like you're performing some obligation and you don't even want to be here!"

"That's not the point," Joren muttered.

"It most certainly seems like the damn point to _me_."

The blonde turned away. He did not do it right away, but seemed to let Neal search his pale blue eyes as a bit before withdrawing into himself. Words could not be exchanged anymore. Neal had been so desperate to talk, but he'd thrown his chance away by self-righteousness and now there was nothing to be had. He inwardly cursed Joren for making it so difficult. He denounced childhood scars. Whatever excuse Joren had for the way he acted wasn't good enough for Neal. It never would be.

_There are plenty of us who've gone through worse. He's the one who decided to start living a brand new life. Sounds like a hypocrite, the way he's reverting back to old habits._

Another voice inside him argued that it took time, but his pride and arrogance informed him that _he_ wouldn't take so much time. He'd just up and do it right away because changing your lifestyle could be fast and painless if done the right way. One only had to ask to know so.

The crew did not seem to think of the trip as much more than a job. Half of them didn't even know it was a civilian plane that they were looking for. They simply knew that their mountain skills were needed at an exorbitant rate per hour. It made them proud, but not too apt to do much else. The money made them eager, at least.

"So we have four men and two pilots on call. Then we'll have that guide, is that right?" Neal asked a man who seemed to be in charge of the crew. The man had a deeply lined face that was dark with frequent sun exposure.

He nodded rigidly. His movements were slow and measured, like he had spent his life perfecting the way to use his energy as conservatively as possible.

"We're covering a large area. I'm not sure what to look for, but there should definitely be signs of a wreck—" Neal stopped prematurely, wishing he hadn't used that particular word. The blame went unspoken as he glanced across the aisle again and cursed.

~~

Back in the safe, familiar world of civilized men, two (mostly) law-abiding citizens of Mithros were having an argument of little significance. Unlike Joren and Neal, they argued for no other reason than to argue. It gave them a feeling of importance and self-worth to be able to debate on topics.

"That's incredibly tacky. Just buy the movie. You're a DJPF officer. You must set the example."

"On video piracy? I just copied a DVD—for myself and not for the mass reproduction and marketing of bootleg movies," Cleon retorted. He waved the shiny silver disk in his friend's face and gave him a bored look.

They lounged in the cafeteria of Faleron's workplace, as per usual. Nothing had changed much for them. Their routine from day to do went uninterrupted by tragedy or otherwise. And the boring life seemed to suit them. They were quite content to be without adventure, as long as they had each other to keep their wits about them.

So when Keladry first told them that she was going home, they both felt shamefully relieved that they had no cause to return to their respective homes. They hid their reactions by being her support. Cleon had even offered to escort her, though he was secretly praying against it; Kalasin was still in town.

Faleron glanced at the second hand of his watch. He sighed and fidgeted in his seat. Meanwhile, his companion sat gazed past him at the COMscreen fixed against the wall of the cafeteria. The screen was snowy with minor static. The redhead frowned.

"Where's Neal? He hasn't been home for days."

"I don't know. Stone has been missing as well. I suppose they had a case that took them out of the city."

Cleon shook his head. "Dude, that doesn't make sense. Stone doesn't take those out-of-town ones anymore. And would Kel—"

"Have gone with him?"

"Dude, don't do that."

"Do what?" He smirked. Then he picked up an apple he had neglected during the meal and took a large bite. After he swallowed, he gestured casually. "Well, you know Kel is going home. She couldn't possibly choose her job over her family."

Cleon smiled a bit too widely for the response to have been genuine. Faleron seemed to know that he had spoken a lie, but they didn't really feel like talking about it. Keladry had spent a good portion of her life, choosing career over her family. They didn't need to dwell on it. 

Faleron glanced at his watch again. "Don't you have a date with Kalasin?"

"Yeah, but it's still a bit early, right?" Cleon replied. He leaned over to look at his friend's watch. He sat back again and began drumming his fingers on the table. There was an air about him that always reminded Faleron of a large, lovable brute of a dog, constantly wagging his tail and constantly whining for attention. The metaphorical tail paused midair. Abruptly, he commented, "Sometimes, I think I'm too lucky in life."

"How so?"

He started counting off his fingers. "Good job, good home, good friends…good _girlfriend_... It's like the scale is tipped in my favor too much. One day, everything might just fall from the scales and that will be the end of my luck."

"So you're saying that you fear paying for your current happiness later on in life." Faleron grinned. He held his arms out in an amazed expression."That might be the wisest thing you've really ever said to me."

Cleon looked both surprised and offended. He narrowed his eyes. "So what, everything I've been saying up until now has been complete idiocy?"

The former thief's mouth resembled that of a gaping dead fish. "Hey, now—"

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm not sinking to your level."

"Yes, because I'm scum," the shorter man sarcastically answered.

"You're darn right you are!"

"And I should probably respect the fact that you're sensitive like a woman."

"Yeah! Just like a—"

"Woman? Thanks for the compliment," a voice came from behind him. Faleron grinned instantly. He sat back in his chair and rested his folded hands in his lap.

"So you're confronted with a potentially ruining situation, Kennan. You can either a) continue your detrimental dramatization, b) remain perfectly quiet and hope your guest leaves, or c) face your girlfriend's critical and suspicious eye. I don't think B will work and I'm almost certain A is a death wish."

Cleon paled. He slowly turned. "Oh, hi Kally! I mean, Kalasin." He winced. He knew she didn't prefer nicknames, even innocuous ones. "I was just coming to see you."

"You're an hour late, Cleon."

Faleron chuckled as he looked at his watch again. "Oops. So sorry, chap. The blasted thing needs to be repaired."

The grin on his face told the sharpshooter that it had not entirely been an accident. He glared at him as he stood up and placed a hand on Kalasin's arm.

"What's so wrong, Kennan? You have a somewhat murderous twinkle in your eye."

"Oh, it's more than just a twinkle, Ice Cream Pants."

Kalasin cast a wary eye on both men. "Ice Cream Pants?"

"Don't ask," Faleron advised.

"Well, let's go. Nice seeing you, Faleron," she said, tight lipped.

He shrugged and waved them off with his hands. "I know you don't mean it, but thanks all the same."

As the couple left, Kalasin glanced over her shoulder at the curiously smiling man. She turned to Cleon, who was still holding her at the elbow. He also looked half bothered, half amused. She looked back again at Faleron and then to Cleon. "Well, he's an insightful little bastard if I ever saw one."

He laughed. "That's what I like about him."

"You have an odd taste in friends."

"I have the best."

~~

Neal surveyed the landscape below. The clouds parted to reveal the rolling, green-gray hills, seeming untouched by man. The stillness and the silence made it seem like a snapshot in time. The wonder of such natural beauty was unknown to him. How odd it was to grow up in a mechanized world! What he had always called nature—his cousin's back yard and the city park—was nothing like this. 

As they began to descend, Neal noticed a small dirt road. Wooden carts pulled by doddering horses and mules seemed to be frozen in mid step. He could only get a glimpse of them before the plane moved past. This was nature. A free, uninhibited world like this was not fenced in and trimmed like a prized lawn. 

It gave birth to life in the purest way, from its naked ground. The sun smiled on it. Like little tear drops weeping for joy at the creation, rain nourished it. The world suckled it until life sprung from the barrenness. 

Neal pretended to breathe it in. Without tearing his gaze off the scenery, he beckoned to Joren. "Stone, come take a look at this."

"I see it just fine from here," was his biting reply. He lowered his chin toward his chest. "We're landing soon. Be ready."

Neal rolled his eyes. He shouldn't have bothered speaking at all. The moment was ruined now, and he felt cheated. "I've _been_ ready for hours. I'm dying to get out of this plane, Stone." He turned his attention back to the dark green of the ground, with the small dirt road winding around the country like a brown thread on a wavy wrinkled cloth. "I wouldn't expect you to appreciate the Yamani countryside, anyway."

Joren's hand tightened imperceptibly around his armrest. He lifted his head. After that, only his eyes moved, like bright white flames dancing on the surface of a star. In a deep, restrained voice, he replied, "I know Yamani countryside better than you ever will."

His companion smirked. "Oh? Care to explain that claim?"

The blonde was quiet at first. He sneered at Neal as if the older man had stepped into a steel jaw trap. "I don't have to explain anything to you, but since the answer ought to embarrass you, I'll say it." He tapped the glass with his knuckle. "I grew up in the Yamani countryside. The hills and mountains are just as beautiful in the Western islands."

The word _beautiful_ was like profanity on his lips. Neal didn't know what to make of it.

"You're a—"

"Native to Gala? Yes. Stop trying to bait me, Queenscove, or else this trip will be more miserable than necessary." He settled back into his seat and glanced at his pager. He dismissed Neal's tactlessness from his mind. The green-eyed officer wasn't a bad person. He was simply irritated and unsure. Times made people hasty and foolish. Joren understood that.

But he wouldn't approve of it. And he wouldn't let Neal have the unearned privilege of knowing Joren's opinion on the matter. He let his mind wander back to the reason he was here on this plane. _More like the reason I'm still here on this_ earth, He thought.

He paged a short message to her, brief as he could make it without seeming uncaring. She was probably not thinking of him. He'd rather that she didn't. Joren knew that her thoughts about him were still troubling, just not in as great abundance as before. There were so many more important, significant things to worry about. He knew it was true. Why… why let this _one_ thing…

~~

Later, when she checked her email, the single message would read:

"We're all looking up at the same blue sky, no matter where we are. What do you think of that? –J.S."

And she knew that he wasn't necessarily talking about the sky and that he probably expected her not to see his hidden meaning. She deleted the message and smiled, trying to think of it the way he'd intended her to.

~~

Author's note:

Hey everyone! Sorry I took so long again. I'm getting into the third quarter crunch. Unlike all you lucky people up north, we don't have snow days. We have miserable foggy mornings and hot afternoons followed by chilly evenings that don't let us off school. I'm busy as hell. Bad simile, give me a break. I say 'as hell' with everything, for some weird reason. 

I tried fitting in a Cleon and Fal scene in here… I suppose I'll have to wait for the more funny material to come in later episodes. *sighs*

I apologize in advance for the upcoming series of late postings. Junior year sucks. I have to dedicate most of my spare time to rowing, fit in some piano, get my grades up in math (I have to have an academic scholarship. I'm not that strong enough a rower to ever get athletic scholarship), and look for colleges (ma and pa: blah blah blah blah college search blah blah). 

So! It turns out that I need to get involved in more literary things (when I have zero time) and work on my essay writing. It's very different, you know. I can do fiction. Short stories, prose, poetry… Even non fiction pieces. But essays! Analytical, persuasive, expository, critical… All these colleges want to admit me for my essays. I'M NOT GOING TO WRITE ESSAYS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. THE AVERAGE PERSON GOES TO THE BOOK STORE FOR ACTUAL BOOKS, NOT ESSAYS. Why must they throw this in my face? I suck at essays—I get B minuses. Friends that don't go to my school say that my essays would get A's, but I go to the hardest friggin' college prep school in the Southeastern United States. How the hell am I supposed to get admitted to these selective college writing programs? *cries and screams and cusses out world*

Okay. Steam blown. I'm good now. Hope you liked the episode! *sweatdrop* I wish I could put down fanfic writer on my activities list. Hey! Does anyone know if I could do that for any applications? I don't have enough time to alter the entire ICBW fic for any sort of portfolio thing. I started this series as a freshman. I'd have to completely rewrite the whole first season to reflect my maturing style! Geh!

*cries again, and stubs toe on desk as she kicks it childishly*

Hope everyone has a nice day (or night)

-Sulia S.


	4. Where the Heart Is

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 4: Where The Heart Is            **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG

~~

_Irontown._

She lowered her eyes from the window. Her body was stiff from sitting in this position for hours, so she shifted onto her side a bit. At least the ride had been smooth. No ground vehicles meant there would be no bumps in the road to shake the bus and to cause her further discomfort. Keladry was uncomfortable enough. 

"The Magical Gift Bus Company once again thanks all passengers for choosing us to be their transportation of choice. We will be arriving at our next destination, Irontown, in approximately ten minutes," a woman in blue uniform announced from the front. "Please be prepared for departure and thank you for choosing Magical Gift Bus Company."

Keladry inwardly rolled her eyes. She'd never heard of a more preposterous name for a greyhound bus line, but apparently, they had exemplary service. The DJPF officer had received a small snack, reading material, headphones, and a small pillow. It felt like an airplane, except this stayed only three feet off the ground.

For her trip she had decided to wear jeans and a burgundy turtleneck sweater. The snow was starting to melt in Tusaine very slightly, but she knew it was better to be safe than sorry. She wouldn't put herself through a sudden flash of cold weather, not without being prepared. 

The bus arrived in Irontown on time. The thin blankets of snow covering the ground showed where the snow plows had been and where people had decided to shovel. Keladry stood up and gathered her belongings. She snuck a glance out of the window. Very few people were waiting at the bus station.

When they had been an hour away, Keladry had called in advance to let her family know how close she was. Wouldn't they have gotten the message and arrived at the station to greet her? Keladry masked her disappointment as she stepped off the now grounded bus and approached the back to gather her baggage. 

The crunching of snow behind her caused Keladry to turn around. Her hand stopped short of reaching for her bags' straps when she saw who it was.

"Tavin! Oh, it's nice to see you," she managed to say, a bit more tightly than she meant to. Amending to it, she managed a smile. 

The boy before her stood silently, a symbol of apathy. He shrugged, also forced an expression that was meant to be a smile, and moved past her to pick up her bags. Hoisting two over his slight shoulders, he pointed past the bus station with a gloved hand. "Anders is waiting for us. Are these all the bags you have?"

"Yes, that's all. Here, let me carry the others." She picked up another one he had neglected and followed her younger brother out of the station. Keladry didn't feel as if she could talk to stranger before her. It was so odd to see him walk ahead of her, each step in confidence that he knew his way around. She didn't. Keladry didn't know her own home.

She tried to pull together details and facts she knew about Tavin. His black hair was inherited from their paternal grandfather, the only Mindelan child at the time with such raven tresses. It fell in careless uncut waves that fell flat against his head as a consequence of wearing woolen caps constantly. His pale skin was like that of the rest of the Irontown's residents in the wintertime. Her tan from fieldwork, even in winter, seemed highly out of place.

What sport did he play? Why couldn't she think of it? She knew that he played something. Perhaps it was hockey. No, maybe he wasn't an athlete at all. He was skinny, as far as she could tell. That sort of build wasn't good for sports. Perhaps he was an intellectual. No, that didn't fit either. There were enough intellectuals in the family. There was an athletic and accomplished dutiful son, a good-for-nothing dreamer, two materialistic and (supposedly) altruistic socialites, a brain, an ambitious stick in the mud, and the forgotten teenager.

_The forgotten teenager…_ Keladry frowned. "Hey, Tavin."

"Yes?" he asked.

"What do you do these days? Are you into hockey or something?"

He glanced back at her, his mouth drawn in a tight line. "I'm a musician. I have a guitar."

Of course, she thought. It was the only part of the spectrum left: the brooding artist. Her parents had done an excellent job of encompassing them all. They only had the twins left to mold into their final representations of society. Who knew what they would become?

She spotted her eldest brother's red pick-up truck in the front row of the parking lot. A thin layer of snow had already blanketed it. Keladry breathed out deeply, her own breath visible as a long stream in the cold air. At least she remembered that infernal, old truck, that truck that never died. As they approached, the man waiting for them began to move from behind the steering wheel. He got out of the truck, his overcoat hindering his movements.

"Hey, baby sister," he greeted, moving forward to hug her. 

Keladry embraced him awkwardly. "Hi, Anders."

He let go and nodded to Tavin. "Go ahead and put them in back. Let's get out of here." He took Keladry's bag from her before she could put it away herself, and placed it in the back of his truck. Then, he swung open the door and let her get in, seated between Tavin and him. "So! How was your trip?"

"Long and boring," she replied. She would have said that she wanted to take a plane to Irontown's local airfield, but she couldn't. Conal and Inness had just been in a plane crash. The reminder would be sore on everyone. Keladry let her thoughts sink to the bottom of her mind. She'd keep that one to herself. 

Keladry placed her hands in her lap, unsure of what else to do with herself. Both her brothers seemed at ease. Of course, _they_ were. This was their town. They saw it every day. She found herself staring out of the window, trying to re-familiarize herself with Irontown. How could she ever have forgotten it?

"Pa is at the office right now. Everyone else should be home," Anders informed her casually. He glanced sideways. "I have to go back to work, too, but we can catch up on old times later, right?"

"Right. Of course," she agreed, nodding her head assuredly. It was more for her benefit than his. She wanted to hear her own voice. She wanted to make sure she still sounded normal, that her voice hadn't cracked under the tension. _Get a grip. These are your brothers, by Glory._

After a slow ten-minute drive through the mostly cleared roads, they pulled into a long driveway. The neighborhood consisted of large houses surrounded by large yards and trees. When children became adults in Irontown, they either moved into another wing of the old family home, built another home on the same land, or moved into another city. 

Keladry got out of the truck following Tavin. She gazed upward at the two-story house in front of her. It was a peach color, covering combinations of stucco, brick, and concrete. The dark blue roof matched the shutters. Keladry expected everything to match where her mother's design was concerned. The garage could fit three cars and the yard could have boasted large swimming pools both in front and back. 

Her eldest brother's house was next door, on the very edge of the family's "ancestral" land. It was a slightly smaller house. Two-stories, but not as spread out on either floor. There was a sturdy picket fence that withstood the harsh weather and divided the yards. Keladry hadn't been inside that house but a few times on her last visit.

She mentally steeled herself for the inevitable. She picked up her bags and followed her brothers to the front door. Brick steps, recently swept, surrounded the doormat of the door in a circular fashion, making it seem like one was on top of a tiered wedding cake of brick when one stepped out of the house. It had been a hazard when she had been young. It would be so easy to trip down those steps, but everyone in her family had a knack for coordination and balance.

She disliked standing at the bottom of these steps, watching Anders unlock the door. What a stranger she felt like, on the outside looking in. How had she ever lived here?

A tall dark dog barked from the other yard. It was a Great Dane, having just escaped from Anders' kennel of dogs. It easily jumped the fence separating the two homes and sped toward his now whistling master. The dog, tongue lolling from his mouth, raised itself on its hindquarters and pawed at Anders insistently.

"Hey, Bud! How did you get out? Go on, now. It's cold and you're not supposed to be out right now," he scolded, pointing a finger back toward the kennel. The dog whined, its ears lowering against its head.

Tavin put a hand on the dog's collar. "Let Bud come in for a while. I'll bring him back later."

Anders looked down at the canine, which became more enthusiastic when it sensed that it could follow his humans inside the warm house. He nudged the door the rest of the way open its slot and ran ahead. Anders swore mildly at the dog's tracks on the foyer doormat. 

"Hey! We're home!" Anders called. He stood at the open doorway while Tavin and Keladry took off their shoes and jackets and put them in the coat closet. He shrugged. "Well, I've got to go. I'll see you two for dinner."

"Bye," Keladry called. He returned the smile and waved as he went down the steps and returned to his truck. She closed the door and rubbed her hands together.

Tavin gestured to her bags. "I'll take these up to your room. Mom's probably in the kitchen, if you want to..."

She nodded. Smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles from her blouse, she walked out of the dimly lit foyer to the living room. Her younger brother proceeded her, dragging her three large bags up the old fashioned wooden stairs. She paused at the wall opposite the stairs. It was covered in photographs from her childhood. A few were new, of the twins and Tavin from a couple of years ago.

The essence of the house was like old apple cinnamon spice. At least, that's what Keladry smelled when she used to lay on the armchair and bury her face against the cushion hoping to catch a quick nap between studies. The patterns in the throw rug beneath the polished coffee table consisted of country-style baskets, fruits, and vegetables. The couches were the same, each matching in different shades of tan, dark green, and that brownish color that reminded her of cider.

Little figurines were set up on high bookshelves, out of reach and childproof. Keladry ran her fingers over the porcelain cats, as if a memory would be released at any moment.

"Kel?" an older woman's voice called. At the doorway to the kitchen, her mother looked out, holding the swinging door open. Her face was remarkably young to Keladry, younger than it had seemed on the COMscreen. Two others joined her, women slightly older than Keladry with the air of natural beauty and elegance around them.

The two women rushed past their mother and engulfed Keladry in a great hug. 

"Oh, wow! Hi, Sis!"

"Kel! Oh, it's our little Kel!"

Keladry inhaled their perfume and relished their warmth. She allowed herself to grin. "Hi Oranie. Hi Adie."

She let go of them and welcomed her mother as well, feeling instead how such wonderful arms had brought her up from a baby and had reared a whole brood of children as well. She rubbed her mother's shoulders as she loosened their embrace.

"Come have a bite to eat, Dear. You must be famished from the trip."

She wasn't, really, but it felt nice to be mothered and clucked over like a baby chick again. 

The three older women now led her into the kitchen. The spotless tile gleamed under the lighting. Everything in here was also coordinated to match, but it was not conspicuously ostentatious.

High pitched cries and yelling sounds suddenly rose up from somewhere within the house. Ilane Mindelan sighed, casting an apologetic look toward her daughters.

"Can't those two be nice to each other for _one_ minute?" she muttered. 

When Keladry frowned, Oranie silently mouthed to her, _'twins'_.

Their mother laid a hand on Adalia's shoulder. "Please fix a sandwich for your sister. I'll go see what they're fighting about now."

A barking noise also echoed through the house. A loud shushing followed it. Ilane put her hands on her hips, sending her glares straight through the ceiling.

"Sorry, Mom! He'll be quiet!" Tavin called.

"Get back to your studies or else the dog goes back next door!" With that, she pushed through swinging door of the kitchen and started for the downstairs bedrooms. 

Adalia began taking out sliced bread and other foods for the sandwich. Oranie and Keladry sat down across from each other at the table. There was a brief period of awkwardness again before Oranie decided to strike up a conversation.

"So! How's life in the big city? Tusaine, I mean. I know you're not in Tortall anymore."

"It's not as cold as here. The snow isn't that thick either."

"Oh, Kel! Not the weather. I mean, how are _you_ over there? Friends… others…?" she trailed off hopefully. Adalia glanced over her shoulder, also eager to hear any potential gossip.

Keladry didn't blush. She refused to. After all, by this time she was an expert at keeping her face straight when it mattered the most. "I have some friends. Coworkers, neighbors, and others I met from last summer."

"No boyfriend?" Oranie pouted, half-disappointed.

"Uh, well…" Keladry wasn't sure whether she should have mentioned Liam or Joren at all. She decided that she would never mention Liam again unless she really had to. Then what about Joren? What should she tell them?

"There _is_ one! I just know it!" Adalia grinned, giggling.

The youngest sister truly didn't know what she could say. Joren was—no, Keladry couldn't explain. Boyfriend? He didn't fit the word. Rather, the word didn't fit him. He was far above the word, but her sister's standards could have placed him far below it, too.

"Come on! Tell us! Or better yet, do you have a picture? Oh, what's his name, Kel? This is wonderful!"

"He's not… Well, he is, but it's a long story," she stammered. Adalia handed her a sandwich and sat down, eagerly listening.

"What's his name?"

"Joren. Uh, Joren Stone," Keladry replied. At least she could say that without too much trouble. "He's my partner. Sort of." She bit into her sandwich.

Their curiosity only increased. "Do you have a picture?"

Keladry started to shake her head. Then she remembered that Lalasa and Roald had given her a small packet of wedding pictures before she left. There was one of Joren, caught off guard beside her at the punch bowl. That one wasn't so bad. Yes, it was perfect.

While she finished her sandwich, they told her that they were also seeing men who worked in town. Adalia was graduating soon and Oranie had finished early in time to take a job in nursing at the local clinic. Things were going just as well for them, and it left their little sister wondering if she should have gone down that path, too.

When they got upstairs to her room, Keladry extracted the wedding pictures from her bags and flipped through them for the photo. She vaguely acknowledged that she was in her old room. Not one item in the whole place had been moved. There was no dust, either. Perhaps they still cleaned it. She ought to thank them later.

Finally, she found the picture. Keladry held it up for them to see. Both women gaped at the photograph. They turned to each other and simultaneously squealed:

"What a babe!"

Keladry blinked. "Uh…"

"Oh, Kel! It's not fair!" her sisters whined.

"Look at that _butt_!"

Keladry's eyes widened. "What?"

"And that hair…"

"Those _eyes_!"

"What lips!"

"Does he have a brother?"

"I get first dibs, then!"

"Yeah right!"

Keladry sighed and decided she had better remain silent.

"Ooh, you _know_ he's hiding muscles under there. You're so lucky!"

_Oh, if only you knew the half of it,_ Keladry thought. The truth was too weird. She couldn't explain the love-hate relationship they had had for half a year. It wasn't until recently that everything had taken a turn for the better and they were willing to be open about their feelings for each other.

"Are we going to meet him?"

The question struck a dead note. Keladry was suddenly reminded of his current whereabouts. She shrugged in an offbeat kind of way. "I don't know. He's on a job right now."

"Saving innocents?" Adalia teased.

"Yamani search party," she confessed.

The conversation was cut off by an abrupt silence. The older sisters looked to each other, uncertain of how to respond. They had mostly avoided talking about that topic ever since they heard the news. It made them uneasy to know that Joren was now involved, though they had never met him.

"I'm sure we'll meet him later on. You can introduce us," Oranie said quietly. "How long will you be home?"

"I don't know. I need to talk some business over with the local DJPF."

"Well, then. We should probably leave you to your rest."

Keladry began gathering the photographs in their packet again. "I'm not tired, really. Actually, I wanted to talk to Tavin. He's grown up so much, don't you think?"

Adalia nodded. "Yeah, at least since the last time you saw him. You ought to go spend time with the twins, too. They'll probably bother you for stories or something."

They eased off the bed and retreated toward the door, saying that they would help Ilane make dinner or perhaps see Anders' wife next door. While they did, Keladry crept down the hall toward her little brother's room. Faint music could be heard from the opposite side of the door. She knocked gently.

There was a rustle of papers. She had probably caught him in the middle of his studies. 

"Come in," he called.

She pushed the button that slid the door open. Her brother was sitting on his bed—book in one hand while rubbing the flank of Great Dane with his other. The dog's head rested on the boy's knee lazily, barely choosing to acknowledge Keladry in its presence.

Keladry nodded toward the small stereo sitting on a desk. "Nice. I don't listen to music much anymore. I haven't the time."

He looked up, a slight crease in his brow. "Time?"

"Yeah. I'm usually on the job."

The withdrawn boy put down his book and politely faced her. "I have a job at the grocer's. That's how I pay for my CDs."

_At least he has some work experience. It's a start,_ she thought approvingly. Coming forward, she kneeled to let the dog sniff her hand. It pressed its wet nose into her palm. Having passed his test, she scratched him behind his ears absently while addressing Tavin.

"Anders didn't tell me he got another dog. How long has this one been here?"

"A year, I think. Bud is spoiled for attention."

She agreed. It felt good to talk with him, though terribly strange at first. He gradually began telling her about his home schooling and his guitar playing. She listened attentively, inserting a comment here and there when she could. Secretly, she wished she had spent time like this with her older brothers. This was how she could make up for it. Here, with Tavin…

_That won't bring them back._

The nagging thought startled her. "Hey, uh, Tav. Why don't I take Bud for a walk and return him to the kennel when I get back? That way I can drop in and say hello next door."

He nodded. "Sure." He patted Bud on his backside. "Go on. Go get your leash."

The large dog bounded past Keladry, pawing through piles of clothing and items on the floor for a leash that Tavin kept just in case. While waiting for him to complete his search, Keladry glanced at the guitar propped up in the corner and bit her lip.

"Maybe you could play a tune for me tonight, yeah?"

Tavin blinked. "Um, sure."

He wouldn't mind. His parents had made him play for the entire family when he had the spare time, just so he could get used to an audience. Keladry shouldn't be any different. She was his sister, wasn't she? His very own sister, yes. She was.

~~

"I was making a fool of myself and I didn't even know it," Keladry murmured aloud. She stopped and looked at Bud, whose nose was currently pressed against the damp, cold ground. "What do you think?"

The dog snorted and continued leading her forward on the sidewalk. They had been circling the neighborhood for a few minutes. The sun was still high, letting its warmth to deflect some of the cold just enough for them to remain outside a little longer than normal. 

She supposed her first attempt at befriending Tavin had gone reasonably well. It could always have been worse. Perhaps she would have better success for the twins. They were still impressionably young and very accepting of novelties, as energetic children often were. 

In time, her mind wandered back to her conversation with Adalia and Oranie. She hadn't wished to reveal that bit of information about him just yet to them. What did they think of her own significant other risking his life to recover her brothers? It was unheard of. One showed his affection with words and gifts, not daring acts of danger.

But that wasn't the whole reason, was it? Was it really? 

Keladry frowned. Bud had led her past Anders' house again. She tugged on the retractable leash, catching the dog's attention though it didn't nudge him in the right direction. The chilled young woman pointed a gloved finger toward the side of the house, the path to the kennel. Bud started approaching obligingly.

She loved Joren. There was no point in denying that anymore. She would do anything in her power to erase his years of pain, or at least make him forget. He'd suffered so much, yet remained so strong, even at the expense of his humanity. But now that was going to change. She was helping him change.

Now Keladry wondered if Joren hadn't volunteered to take up the search because of her influence. He hadn't been encouraged or forced to go to the Eastern Yamanis. She would have much rather had him by her side, being there to comfort her. 

Then again, when Joren Stone finally gave in to something, he always went extreme. When he initially took on that undercover operation in Tusaine, he committed more than two years of his life to it and came away worse for wear, inside and out. When he challenged her defiance against him during the first months of their partnership, he didn't merely kiss her. He took her breath away and left her shaken to the core. 

Everything about him was extreme. His actions, his self-isolation, his love, and his _pain_… it was more than Keladry could bear to think about sometimes. She tried so hard to focus on the new Joren, the one she was helping to create with love and care. But when he was so far away from her, she began doubting his ability to uphold this new self without her.

"Bud, go. Get in, would you?" Keladry nudged the Great Dane into his pen. He entered, circled twice around his cozy sleeping area (two old baby blankets with bright stars and planets covering them). She hung up the leash on a peg and exited the kennel, admiring how peaceful and quiet her brother's dogs were at this time of day.

Preparing herself to go in and visit her sister-in-law, Keladry dismissed dreary thoughts. The time would come to deal with the University about Conal and Inness. There would always be time later to think about a certain towheaded man hiking through blizzards in a foreign country. Right then, she wanted warm cocoa and a few minutes of blissful ignorance. It was the least she could do for herself. Being obsessed with helping others tired her out.

She would need the energy for harsher problems in the not-so-distant future.

~~

"Oh, how preposterous! Of course the author didn't mean for it to be interpreted like that! I swear, you are absolutely Freudian about everything!" a man in his early fifties exclaimed, packing his briefcase and glaring at his companion, the director of the University board.

A taller, thinner man with a long beaklike nose and a wiry mustache laughed. "Oh, what's so wrong with that psychoanalysis? It's perfectly plausible."

"Honestly, Henry, aren't you a bit old to have so much sex on the brain?"

"Of course not. Now, you very well know my wife's been buying Viagra—"

"Excuse me?" a young feminine voice came from behind the two elderly men. They turned around, completely forgetting their current conversation.

Keladry had come to the secretary's desk, asking for the person she'd come to talk with about the University's intentions up in the Eastern Yamanis and its current funding of the search. She hadn't expected to find this. They coincidentally reminded her of Faleron and Cleon—aged thirty years.

"Yes? Can we help you?" the taller man asked.

She hesitantly entered the empty classroom, bowing briefly. "I'm Officer Keladry Mindelan, First Class, of the DJPF. I'm here to get the details on the University sponsored search for a missing research plane in the Yamanis."

The men exchanged surprised looks. They both set their briefcases down on the large desk. She took it as a signal to come forward and present her case.

"I'm told that a Professor Turomot Wellam is the head of the Archaeology and Anthropology Departments."

"What a fine bragging right that is," the beak-nosed professor said cynically.

The shorter one shushed him. "Oh, lay off it, Henry. Yes, Miss. I am Professor Wellam." He scrutinized her face. "I'm sorry, but the local DJPF has already received all my information. I daresay find it strange that they would send a First Class Officer to review a search that is in the process as we speak."

Keladry nodded compliantly. "Yes, Sir. They have received their own information. But I'm from Tusaine, not the local DJPF. The reason that I have come—" she tried to keep her emotions in check. "The reason I'm here is that I have to verify for myself and for the records of the T-district what the circumstances are. The fact that the only volunteers for this search mission are Tusaine Officers requires such action."

"I'm afraid I don't believe your story," Wellam replied. Keladry seemed startled at this. He went on. "But I understand that you have your reasons, Officer. I don't think there is any reason that you would wish my poor missing pupil or his crew any ill will. Especially since you're his sister. What? Didn't you think I wouldn't notice how you muttered your last name?" He smiled. "It's fine, dear. You're worried for your brothers and you want to get the necessary details from the source rather than the grapevine. I know."

She relaxed considerably after this. "You believe Inness and Conal are still alive?"

"I, myself, find it rather peculiar that there were no malfunctions reported previous to the break of radio contact," Henry asserted. He held up one finger. "And I don't believe a sudden blizzard at their altitude could have truly hindered them. The evidence of recorded weather systems across the globes testifies to that."

The facts were wonderful things, Keladry decided. She felt a great weight lifted from her chest, despite having received no answers to her earlier questions. "May I ask what my brother was doing up there, Professors?"

Wellam rubbed his chubby chin. "Lately, a certain sculpture and pottery design of ancient origins had been turning up in the most odd places in Mithros. When we tried to pinpoint a source of these artifacts, we came across tiny mineral samples that pointed us toward the Eastern Yamanis. Yet none of the modern day mountain or hill peoples of that region have any pottery with designs quite like this. They don't seem capable."

"What my colleague here is saying, is that we believe that there may actually be more than meets the eye to the Yamani Mountains. There may be, perhaps, a lost civilization." His face lit up. The sudden ardor for mystery was swelling up inside of him. "Imagine a great avalanche having engulfed an entire society, leaving only a few artifacts for their loosely related cousins to find and distribute like dirty coins."

"Quite remarkable, isn't it?"

She couldn't say. On the one hand, she was very impressed with their theories and research. Such a discovery would be the talk of the century, much more so than the crisis with the Immortals. Unfortunately, an accident involved with this dream had robbed her of two brothers. As much as she appreciated what they had meant to do for humanity by discovering this, she would rather have Conal and Inness than the remains of a dead civilization.

"If you need anything else, my dear, feel free to come by and ask."

Keladry faked being late by glancing at her pager. She didn't have to fake it since she actually saw a notice on her pager to check her mailbox. The young woman looked up and bowed again. "Thank you for your cooperation, Professors. That's all that I need for now."

Henry patted her shoulder. "Good luck, child. I'm sure everything will turn out for the best in the end."

She excused herself politely from her presence, still noticing how they continued to bicker even as she departed. The conversation from earlier had quickly resumed, with a quip here or there about the validity of certain presentations or interpretations. Keladry couldn't make heads or tails of what they were discussing, but she supposed it was important enough to cause argument.

As for their sincerity, Keladry wasn't sure. She had never talked to Inness' superiors or Inness himself about his goals in archaeology.  Perhaps things were better than they seemed, causing the two men to have such confidence in the archaeology team's survival that they could only carry on as normally as they could.

Having escaped from the classrooms, Keladry slipped into the unlocked computer lab of the University and accessed her mailbox from a computer terminal. She skimmed down her usual letters of junk mail until she came across the very thing she had hoped for, yet had not expected.

"We're all looking up at the same blue sky, no matter where we are. What do you think of that? –J.S."

She could have wept for joy. Her face became a mask of stone as she repressed her initial urge to get on her knees and thank the gods for his safe existence. She quickly read the statement several times. 

On the surface, as he had intended her to read it, it had been an understated declaration of love. He was thinking of her, probably more pleasantly and faithfully than she was of him. Yet, she couldn't help but notice something on the bottom of the meaning. There was something so wrong about these words coming from Joren. She somehow knew that he was thinking about something else and was using those same words to express what he thought she expected to hear.

_Blue_, she thought. _No matter where we are…_ _Not 'we are', but 'I am.'_ _Blue, no matter where I am…_ _That's what he's saying._ She frowned and shook her head. He was desperately trying to keep himself sane, but the old fathomless blue of depression was crashing in over him like a wave. It discouraged her from sending a reply message that told him her sentiments.

Instead, she typed a three-sentence long response message that basically said that she couldn't wait to see him again and that he had better be kind to Neal. The taller, older officer had a hair trigger temper when it came to certain people, Joren being one of them. She didn't want them to fight. They were the two most important people in her life.

_And they are not my brothers,_ she thought. _They are more on my mind than Inness and Conal, yet my brothers are the ones that I should be walking through blinding blizzards to rescue._ It was shame that made her knees nearly buckle from beneath her. She leaned over the keyboard and quickly logged out. Afterwards, she made a quickly bee line for the door and planned to visit the professors again next afternoon.

She had to go back to her family now. Her parents and her siblings were waiting for her to be with _them_ and pay attention to _them_. This was their time now. She would let them own her again as they did when she was thirteen. There would be no DJPF distracting her. Not now, anyway. That was the important part. There would only be them, in a big old house in the middle of Irontown.

"Family," she muttered. "I'm not worthy of a family."

~~

Author's note: Yay! Another episode done. Relatively quickly, too. Well, I didn't bother to edit this. I know there are plenty of errors. There always are. But, I had rather get this out to you than sit up all night correcting myself. You know what I meant to say when you see some misspelled word or some un-capitalized name. Blah blah blah.

So! Send your emails! Make your reviews! I'd like to know what you think. We alternate _back_ to Joren again (hurrah, hurrah) next episode, titled: Royalty. See you there!


	5. Royalty

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 5: Royalty **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG, PG-13?

~~

"How much longer until we're at the village?" Neal asked, brushing off snow from his shoulders and sluggishly putting one foot in front of another. He found that his legs were already tired from their trekking. How in the world would he be able to continue on this whole search investigation?

Joren was equally as weary, but he refused to let on that his endurance was straining the tiniest bit. He looked up at the hired hands, a few in front of the officers, a few in back. The man in charge of them led the way, knowing which paths were safe. The last thing anyone wanted was to slip and fall twenty feet down the side of the mountain. 

"The trading post is not too far off now. It should be just beyond this ridge," a woman noted, consulting a compass and a map. She showed it to Neal so as to reassure them of their location. He huffed in response, more to himself than to her, and muttered things he didn't dare repeat any louder.

About twenty minutes later, they had reached the top of the ridge and spotted the trading post some fifty yards away. It was a scattered assortment of cabins and huts. Some had smoke trailing out of crudely built chimneys. Others had areas before them, marked off by stones and ash that fires were built in those places daily. 

Eastern Yamani villagers along with trading post officials and merchants went about their tasks. Two men were bartering over food supplies while a pair of mountain goats, waiting for their master to come to an agreement, began butting heads with each other. 

Joren looked over his shoulder. "Queenscove, what's the hold up?"

Neal was on one knee, tying his bootlaces up. "You guys go on ahead. I'll catch up in a second."

The blonde rolled his eyes and signaled for the rest of their party to move forward. Neal fumbled with the strings, not accustomed to having such thick gloves. He paused to consider his options, and then removed them. As the coldness rushed over his exposed hands, he shivered and exhaled hot air over his knuckles. 

After quickly completing his small task, he stuffed his hands back into the warm gloves and stood up. As he reached down to hoist his large pack back onto his shoulders, he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye. He looked, twisting his torso left while keeping his feet solidly on the ground. It wouldn't do to lose his balance at the top of the ridge and go tumbling back down like a rubber ball. 

"Odd," he murmured, frowning under the scarf wrapped over the lower half of his face. He pulled his scarf down to have more free movement of his neck. Still feeling as if something were there, Neal then twisted around and looked to his right. His eyes widened in surprise.

A young woman, obviously of Eastern Yamani descent, was crouched on top of a crag, dressed in dried leather skins and furs. Her dark, slanted eyes bore into Neal, driving icicles into him as he continued to gaze on. Long dark hair, some in thin braids, flew about her head, tossed about by the wind. 

"Um, hello!" Neal called out nervously. If it had been any other person, an idea would have formed to find out the stranger's name and quite possibly the reason for her eerie sentinel.

Neal, being simply…_Neal_, took one look at her full lips and blurted out, "You're gorgeous. Want to get a bite to eat?"

"Eat?" she mimicked. The woman cocked her head sideways at his words. 

He nodded. "Yeah. You know, to partake of a morsel of food and consume it, preferably with another person with you. Getting a bite to eat." Out of instinct, he offered her his most charming and non-threatening face. "So?"

Her beauty astounded him. No, it was more than that. The way she simply remained there, tense like a cat about to pounce. The coal colored eyes shone with black fire. She was as wild and free as the eagle that flew ahead. Her aura radiated of something fierce, but there was a hint of benevolence in the way she poised her knuckles on the rock. 

"You are strange," she said in a resonating, clear voice. It was both demure and forceful. He had no doubt in his mind that she could elevate her whisper to a war cry. And as confused as she was, the feeling did not reach her eyes. It was as if she were jotting down an observation for a scientific study on a breed of man. Not that he minded being studied.

It finally occurred to him what he ought to ask. "Um, I'm Neal. What's your name?"

She narrowed her eyes at him before jumping backwards from her crag and disappearing down the side of the mountain. Neal put down his pack. He ran awkwardly through the thick snow and clambered onto the crag (with a great deal of heaves, grunts, and 'oofs'). Then the officer looked down but found that he could see nothing but mountainside.

White, everywhere he went. The sun shone upon it in such a way that Neal was being blinded. He squinted and averted his eyes. Then, he reluctantly made his way back toward the trading post, still frowning. "I wonder who she was."

Back at the trading post, Joren was at the cabin of the man in charge, Samuel Higgins. The trade master and ex-DJPF army lieutenant was a loud, swarthy man, patting Joren soundly on the back as he led the newcomers inside. His body was large, but not wastefully so. It was as if his spirit was so large it needed to fill out the body into such a shape. Joren paid no attention to it. This man was the one, who had hired their guide for the expedition.

"It's good to see Westerners again. Don't get me wrong," Higgins laughed raucously, "I love 'em Yamanis all to death, but every now and then a man can get lonely for people as stupidly sunburned as him! Haha!"

Joren frowned. He looked around him at his party. True to word, everyone was pinkish red right under their eyes, on their nose, and on most of their cheeks. Joren didn't bother looking for a mirror. He was sure he was just as… _colorful_.

The trade master sent one of his own men out to retrieve the guide. In the meantime, he retrieved a whisky bottle from the massive trunk in front of his bed and laid it on the table. While getting glasses for Joren and his companions, Neal walked in, unwrapping his scarf and snatching his cap off his head. 

"Did I miss anything?"

Higgins offered him a glass. "Just in time, my boy, just in time! All of you! Sit and relax while you can."

_While we can, indeed_, Joren thought irritably. He glanced out the cabin's window at the white and gray mountainside. He thought of the rocks and the sharp points, the beasts and the terrible coldness. He formed an image of two men in his mind—though he had never even seen a picture of them—and a crashed plane, the men crawling away bloodied and cold with no survival aids of any kind. They were so defenseless. 

He was jostled from his thoughts when Higgins started laughing in front of his face, obviously having told some great joke. Joren nodded, forcing himself to half-smile. The messenger sent out before now came back with another man in tow.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here is my good man Imrah Legann!" Higgins introduced with a sweeping bow. He nodded proudly. "He's my best guide and tracker. He'll help you find that plane site in no time."

"Thank you," Neal said. "Time really is of the essence here."

"That may be the case, but it's still early in the day. Rest and supply before you head back out again. I won't let you leave until you've had some food and sleep in ya," he told them firmly.

The guide, whom they had not a chance to notice before, was a tall, thin man of seemingly Western descent, though it was obvious he had some Yamani in him. He wore leathers, furs, and cloths made especially by the Eastern Yamani of that village and trading post. The colors on his sleeves and his back were bright and carefully woven to form a geometric design similar to that of those people at the base of the mountain. 

Imrah only sat down when he had seen everyone else take a chair, Joren included. The blonde surveyed the silent man with certain distrust, but put the notion away when he realized that it would help nothing.

Joren knocked back the glass of whisky, feeling the familiar burn go down his throat and make him warm inside. It had been so long… Keladry never let him indulge himself anymore. She had said that he drank when he was sad or frustrated. She was determined to make him neither of those things. 

Both DJPF officers were partially relieved to finally set out an hour later. They had made an attempt at tolerating Higgins, but they found that could only handle so much. Neal didn't blame Higgins. The man really hadn't had anyone to talk to, save for those Yamani that he spent day after day trading with. Neal detested that level of monotony and wished that fate upon no one.

"So, Legann, have you any idea where to start leading us?" Joren asked the silent guide.

The tall man inclined his head. "With the information you have given me from the plane's last recorded position, I have a generalized area for us to search. It should only be a day's journey from here." He gestured around him. "With the heat sentries your University has provided, we can camp safely in this cold weather without fear of never waking up."

"Sleep wouldn't be so bad," Neal mused aloud.

"He was talking about the Big Sleep, idiot," Joren told him, sneering. "Death."

"I knew that," he defended weakly. His reddening cheeks indicated otherwise. 

They walked at opposite ends of their search party: Neal in the front and Joren in the back. The time passed slowly. Neal was not so sure where they were. Everywhere they went, he saw snow and rocks and the occasional patch of bare ground. If he had to journey through this place on his own, he would get lost within seconds. 

He sidled up beside Imrah, pressing his chapped lips together. "So! Can I ask you something?"

"If you wish."

Neal adjusted his pack on his shoulders. "Before I entered the trading post, I saw this girl, you see. Come to think about it—she dressed a bit like you, minus the color." He smiled to himself. "There was something in her eyes. Magnetism, man." He shook his head. "Anyway, I was wondering if you could tell me her name. Is she a regular at the village, maybe?"

Imrah stared at him as they walked. His expression was grave. "There are very few women from the village who journey to this outpost. Those who do travel do not dress in these types of skins and furs." He nodded solemnly. " You must have seen Princess Shinkokami."

"Princess!" Neal gasped. He narrowed his eyes. "Really? Are you kidding me?"

"They call her the Princess of the Snow. She is a phantom who glides across this ice-desert. The beasts of the mountain are her subjects and the moon is her sleeping place," the guide replied, his aged voice transporting the both of them across time. "Under the burning stars, once, a man saw her singing. Her sweet voice tore the mountains asunder and formed secret havens for the lost souls who have perished on this mountain. May you never be one of them, Nealan Queenscove."

The last sentence caused the younger man to shiver uncontrollably. He rubbed at his arms. Thanking Imrah, he let himself fall back a few steps until Imrah was ahead again, leading them through the coldness of the mysterious Yamani mountains. Meanwhile, he allowed himself to wonder about this wild girl. She had captured and conquered him without ever having lifted her bow or her arrow.

~~

The night was not as cold as Neal thought it would have been. After they had set up camp and surrounded themselves with heat sentinels, they ate a small dinner and went about their own business. Neal managed to coerce one of the porters to play a game of hackie-sack. It was difficult to move quickly in their thick clothing, but he preferred it to nothing. 

He wouldn't enter conversation with Joren again. Obstinate men like him never did give in first. Sure, he had promised his best friend that he would try to be civil. How could he do it, though? Joren wasn't a man you could just walk up to and talk to (well, not unless you were a certain redhead with no sense of tact). He was unapproachable.

"Mr. Queenscove, I think it would be wise if we went to sleep soon," the porter suggested. He let the hackie-sack drop to the ground and gave Neal an imploring look.

Neal shrugged. "I suppose we need to rest."

"Is something troubling you, Sir? You seem distracted."

"Oh it's nothing. Just this… girl, I guess you could say."

The porter's eyebrows rose. "Oh. One of those things." He paused and bowed slightly. "I'm sure you'll find a beautiful woman with wonderful assets, worthy of marrying you and bearing you many strong children. Goddess, bless the thought."

Neal became flustered. He was still trying to get past the word _assets_. "Me? Marry? Oh, no, I'm a committed bachelor. I'm fine as is."

"So you DJPF men just like getting your kicks and leaving, yes?" the porter slyly asked.

"We most certainly do not," Joren barked from several feet away. He glared daggers at Neal before ducking into his tent. The light inside it blinked off a few seconds later. 

The older officer groaned to himself. He picked up the hackie-sack and scratched the back of his head as he approached the porter. "I'm a unique son of a gun, I guess. As fickle as the wind, yeah?" He paused. "Well, perhaps I should say 'as fickle as the weather' to generalize it, but that doesn't sound right either. Maybe I could say—aw, hell. You know what I mean."

The porter smiled. "Goodnight, Mr. Queenscove."

"Goodnight," Neal replied tiredly and trotted off to his own tent.

Unfortunately, it would not be a good night for him. He spent the nighttime, tossing and turning in his sleeping bag, unable to fall asleep. Finally, Neal sat up and rested his chin on his knees. It was simply ridiculous. How could he have _one _woman stuck in his head as if the rest of the world didn't matter?

He had never been completely in love before. He dated women. He felt attracted to them. He insisted on having a good time, even if things would never go to the next level. Perhaps it was because he had grown up only knowing his father. Dr. Baird Queenscove had done all that was in his power to make sure Neal felt loved while as a child. There had been no fault there. But it had left Neal curious about the ways of women.

Years of flirtatiousness and an inability to commit followed from this mentality. He could never settle on _one_. Why one? He had to know them all. Yet this Yamani wild girl, this _princess_… Neal ran his hands across his scalp, ruffling his hair as he did so.

He knew the look in his face without reaching for a mirror. The officer had seen it before on women's faces, on those unfortunate females that he could not settle down with. Nealan Queenscove, Casanova and Bachelor Extraordinaire, had unwittingly fallen hopelessly in love.

A sudden crash around his ears made him jerk. It was followed by a series of inhuman howls and a few frightened cries for help. Neal scrambled out of his sleeping bag, pulling a large jacket over his body and also reaching for his gun. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't sound good. He cocked his gun and crawled forward, swiftly shoving aside his tent flap.

When the floodlights poised over the heat sentries suddenly illuminated the whole campsite, he saw that everyone was awake and armed, like he was. Large wolf-like beasts growled and ran in between the tents, knocking over everything in sight. He could barely make out Joren at the edge of shadows, struggling against one of the creatures trying to snap his jaws at the officer.

"Protect the supplies! What are you waiting for?" he yelled, managing to throw his attacker off. He squeezed off a round. The shot found its mark in the left hind leg. The animal howled and whimpered, eventually dragging itself away. The snow was spotted red with its blood.

The other porters were having similar struggles merely trying to protect themselves, let alone the supplies. Neal could barely make out their older guide, poised on top of a ledge, using a hunting rifle to pick off the beasts closest to them.

Realizing he ought to get out of his tent and help, Neal stood. Just as he did this, one of the wolf-beasts leapt for him. He raised his arm to shield himself. This only caused the beast to bite down on his forearm. Neal cried out in pain. As he fell back, the hold of the jaws on his arm only tightened. 

It was so hard to concentrate on anything. All he could think was, _Get it off! It's going to rip my arm off!_ The heavy body of the creature weighed him down, preventing him from getting back up. He blindly sought with his free hand some part of the beast that he could hold and shove. He grabbed the snout and tried to pry the sharp jaws from his profusely bleeding arm.

"Hey! Somebody!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "My arm!"

Out of all the chaos, Neal suddenly realized that the wolf-beast was no longer moving. Its large head was still attached to his arm, but otherwise, the body had gone limp. He opened his eyes and squinted through the dim light. It took a few seconds for him to be able to focus, but once he did, he thought he was dreaming.

Three long arrows were planted in the flank of the beast. They had gone in deep, Neal could tell, from the shortness of shaft that he could see. He frantically moved against the slain beast. He carefully removed his injured limb from its now slack jaws. Fortunately, his thick jacket sleeve had provided some protection. His blood soaked into the sleeve and turned the previously blue fabric purple.

He shoved the body off him and rolled over, reaching for his weapon. He had to ignore the pain and be prepared to guard against another attack. The sounds of shouts and growls still flooded his sense. He blearily got up and staggered out of his partially shredded tent.

"No way!" he gasped. His eyes fell upon the familiar figure of Shinkokami, crouching in the snow with her bow flexed and an arrow at the notch. _Well, now I know where the arrows came from._

Automatically, his legs began moving toward her. His inadequately covered feet and legs moved sluggishly through the snow. He cradled his arm while still holding onto his weapon. As soon as he approached, Shinkokami began running again. She had pulled up her furs around her so that she blended in with the wolf-like beasts that were attacking.

He could see Joren not too far from him now, standing in front of several porters with his gun. The blonde also saw Shinkokami, but unlike Neal, he only saw a beast larger than the rest. Neal's heart skipped a beat when he saw his partner take aim.

"Stone! No!" he yelled, running at him. 

Before either man knew what was happening, they had collided in a tangled mess of limbs, melted snow, and fresh blood. They landed on top of one of the tents, rolling down the slope of their campsite. Neal couldn't fathom this new level of injury. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd have to go on Disability Leave again. His arm was throbbing with excruciating pain. He tried to grab onto something, anything. He got a fistful of ice and more bolts of fire shooting up the muscles of his forearm.

They eventually rolled into a pile of rocks, having already slowed down by the many things they had already hit. In the excitement of things, Joren's body slipped away from him. Neal found himself flat on his back, staring up breathlessly at the dark sky. He moaned and struggled to roll over and see what was going on. 

"Mr. Queenscove," Imrah was calling. "It's okay. They're all gone. Are you injured?"

"Yeah," he replied. His own voice echoed inside his head, as if he weren't all there inside. Neal got up to his knees and surveyed the dimly lit area around him. They were outside the circle of heat sentries. He could feel the coldness seeping into his bones. 

How in the world was he going to explain Shinkokami to Joren? Even worse, how was he going to stop Joren from bashing his head in? Neal had tackled him. And at such a dangerous moment, Joren must have taken it to mean some sort of betrayal or attack on him, personally. He thought absentmindedly to himself that he didn't care if the former operative was offended by his actions. But Kel would care. Her approval meant a lot to both men. And this event would most likely aggravate the current situation until each other's presence became unbearable.

He finally spotted Joren, having fallen a few feet away. Breathing a sigh or relief, he stood up and approached his partner. "Hey, Stone—"

His voice caught in his throat when he saw that blood was trickling from Joren's hairline. The blonde's head rested against a rock, where he had finally been stopped from his rolling and falling down the slope. His eyelids were tinted blue with the cold. Neal could barely tell the difference of color between the snow on Joren's cheek and the skin itself.

~~

He was sitting on the grass. It was such lovely, vibrantly green grass. He held it between his fingers and enjoyed the coolness of it against his palms. With a deep exhalation, he collapsed backwards onto the hillside and looked up at the clouds. 

The breeze rolled over him, blowing strands of pale sunshine in his eyes. He swatted at his bangs. A small chuckled sounded from beside him. Joren couldn't help but lazily grin as he stretched out, cat-like, and rolled onto his side.

Propping his head up, he let his eyes run over his companion, taking in every detail from the curve of her neck to the creamy color of her calves against the peach colored sundress. Her arm also propped up her head as if she had not a care in the world. Laughingly, she regarded him with the same, half-lidded eyes. 

"What's so funny?" he asked, still grinning. He felt so light and airy. Could he really have been on the grass? Or was he lying on a cloud?

She moved toward him, crawling on her hands and knees until she was pressed up against him. A soft hand stroked his face, while her cool lips pressed against his. When they separated again, she shrugged and laid herself down at his elbow. "Oh, nothing."

He looked down on her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "You're laughing at something. Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes," she admitted. She began to toy with his white-blond hair. He enjoyed the sensation of her fingertips against his scalp. While she massaged his head, he closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead rested on her shoulder.

He took in her scent. She was fresh like a waterfall, with lilies floating in the water. He rubbed his nose against her neck, causing her to giggle.

"Hey, that tickles."

"Tell me why you laugh at me," he asked again, semi-serious. Joren lifted up his head and looked at her. Her short, light brown hair was spread out on the grass in a halo. His angel. His cruel angel.

The happiness from her face faded. She looked away from him, preferring to pick blades of grass and toy with them in her hands. His uncertainty grew as he watched her, scared and nervous, tearing the grass into smaller bits. She eventually rolled onto her side, facing away from him. She couldn't look at him. Not then.

He put his arm around her and pressed his face to her hair. He repeated his question, now a demand. "Tell me why."

She cringed at his words. With a shaky voice, she replied, "It's because you can't laugh at yourself. You say you'll get better. You promise and promise and promise that everything will change and that you'll try your hardest to get better. But are you?"

Joren lifted his head. He tightened his hold around her. "I _am_ trying! It's hard when I'm away from you. You… you keep me balanced and sane."

"You shouldn't be dependent on me to keep you sane!" she exclaimed, squirming out of his hold. She rolled over and faced him. "You're stronger than you think. You can do it by yourself."

"Are you asking me to leave you, then? To go back on my own and do this by myself?"

Tears were welling up in her eyes. She moved toward him again, slipping her smooth arms around his neck and pressing her face against his temple. "No, you don't have to leave. If you can just do this by yourself, I'll be standing right beside you, celebrating with you. Just _try_."

After this, she stood up and walked down the hill, her sundress billowing to the side from the force of the wind. He sat up on his elbows and stared after her. Still walking barefoot, she reached the bottom of the hill. A little boy was waiting. 

He was about five years old, with pale blond hair that curled about his head. The same stiff black clothing that covered Joren also covered this boy's pinkish skin. As Joren sat all the way up, the boy turned and looked at him. His blue eyes seemed to pity him. There was no light inside.

_The one I've lost. The one that was stolen. The one that I can't reach—_he thought wildly. His eyes focused on the round little face, taking in every little detail, from the pouting mouth to the arch of the pale eyebrows.

She took the little boy's hand and began to lead him further away. The clouds began passing in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the base of the hill. The shadow stretched toward him like fingers reaching forward to drag him down. She glanced over her shoulder and spoke only once to him before disappearing completely.

"We'll be waiting for the time. You cannot have us before then."

~~

Joren sat up in cold sweat, a tortured cry pouring out from his hoarse throat. He reached for the bloody bandage wound around his head and tore it off. Almost like a feral animal, he threw the blankets off of him and stumbled to his feet. His breathing was harsh and labored. There wasn't enough air to take in. Joren was dimly aware of the biting cold. The clothing that he wore wasn't thick enough to protect against it. Instead of reaching for the blankets again, he boldly went forward.

He managed to reach the edge of the tent. There, he collapsed to his knees and looked out on the wilderness around him. There was no color, no sunshine. No grass, no life. It was still. So still, like death.

It was too much for his fevered mind. He gripped fistfuls of hair and screamed.

"_Keladry__!_"

~~

Author's note: Ta da! Yet another episode _finally_ finished. I tell ya, I missed writing. It's hard to do everything I like to do when there are impending AP and IB exams. It doesn't help when I have Crew five days a week for four-hour intervals, piano lessons galore, National Honor Society obligations, and _now_ an editorship in the school's IB Magazine. At least I get to stop piano after this summer. Not that I want to stop. I like playing, but there's no time. I only have to suffer one more year of crew (or die of shame and blackmail) and school is school. If I don't get that scholarship, I'll go on a bloody rampage.

Okay! So you're tired of hearing me rant, _yet again_. So here's the fun stuff!

Cleon and Faleron come back next episode! Something exciting happens where no one gets mauled by weird mountain beasts! Kel thinks of Joren—again! Okay, so that last one was somewhat predictable. So sue me. Those two have issues, and I'll be darned if they aren't expressed with the time and care that befits them.

If you must know, I've been listening to Radiohead's "Paranoid Android" for most of Joren's dream sequence. If you need some inspiration for that scene's mood, there ya go. Enjoy!

And hopefully I'll get to post again soon…


	6. Follow You Down

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 6: Follow You Down   **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG, PG-13? Slight swearing, otherwise I wouldn't worry.

~~

It occurred to her that she would have to return to work. She had to save her vacation hours for the time when they might have the funeral. Keladry did not want to consider that possibility, but it was a possibility nonetheless. It would be a practical decision. And she was, if anything, always practical.

So, Keladry had a few final words with the DJPF in Irontown. They were a collection of second and third class officers commanded by one first class officer such as herself. She wondered what it would have been like if she had gone to serve at home instead of Tortall. Surely they didn't have nearly as many problems as the districts of Tortall. 

After having settled everything, she bid her family goodbye and departed. No one, save her mother, was too sorry to see her go. It had been like housing a semi-familiar guest, even if she was their sister. They made their appropriate farewells and watched her leave.

"The dogs will miss me," Keladry muttered thoughtfully, remembering Anders' kennel.

_The dogs will miss anyone who feeds them, Mindelan. What makes you think you're special?_

The caustic voice of Joren reverberated through her head. Yes, that was something he would have said had he been there. Most people would become offended by such backtalk. Keladry missed it dearly. He shielded himself with his harsh words. Keladry could see through that. When he said, "You look like shit", she knew that he was attracted to her messy appearance. When he rolled his eyes as if bored, Keladry knew he was secretly amused, just too proud to show it. And if he said, "You can take that and shove it up your—", it was her cue to approach him and kiss him. He never complained.

When her bus was nearing Tortall, she phoned Cleon while the bus was at a rest stop. She was tired and sleepy. Keladry needed someone to pick her up from the station. Otherwise, she might fall asleep on the station bench and stay there all night. 

"Hello?" Cleon answered. He was chewing bubble gum. "Oh, Kel! So how long will it be before you get home?"

She glanced at her pager for the time. "I'd say about an hour. Will you go the station and wait for me?"

He blew a pink bubble and popped it. "Sure! Faleron and I will be over there—no problem. So, how were things at home? Any news?"

"Yeah, some." Keladry inwardly cringed. She shrugged. "I received a message from Joren when I first arrived there and I sent one back. But it's been days since that. He hasn't answered any of my replies."

Cleon shifted nervously. He was thinking exactly what she had thought. Perhaps something had happened to the search party as well. It would crush her last bit of resistance if it ever happened. Keladry wasn't made of stone. She wouldn't be able to handle another loss like that.

"What about Neal?" he asked.

"Nothing from him either. I want to go over there and track them down. This is so frustrating!" she exclaimed. 

He understood. "Well, get home first. I'm sure they'll answer soon." He looked toward a spot past the COM-screen, focused on an idea in his mind that she couldn't guess. "Don't worry about it. It will take care of itself."

"Cleon?"

His eyes moved jerkily back towards her again. "Everything is going to be fine, Kel. You'll see."

She nodded. "I know," she had said. But the truth was, she didn't know. She couldn't relax. And despite all her years of self-training, she could not cease wishing for the certain embrace of a blond man who didn't know how to make compliments.

~~

Back home, the wheels in Cleon's head were turning. Years later, those who knew Cleon best would say that he had always been a bright man, just never on the same wavelength as the rest of the world. He could not be considered eccentric, although the adjective 'goofy' popped into many chuckling minds. No, this time he was focused, but cheerfully so. A smile lingered on his face; he showed all the signs of great optimistic determination. 

When Faleron stopped by after work, the mysterious smile was still in place on the redhead's lips. He greeted Faleron warmly. The former thief knew something was different right away.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked suspiciously. "I've never known you to appear so… "

"Resolved? Tenacious?" his companion eagerly supplied.

Being surprised that Cleon even knew what those words meant, he blinked and said, "I was going to say plucky."

"_Plucky?!_" Cleon gasped in indignation.

"Well, sure. You've got that confident, little I-have-a-plan look on your face that screams enthusiasm and daring." Faleron shrugged. "I thought it was intentional. So, what has been brewing in that cauldron of a mind of yours?" He compared his friend's mind to a cauldron because both very often had something awfully 'nasty' inside—the word 'nasty' being up to interpretation.

Cleon, very accustomed to the sarcasm that would drive others away, folded his hands behind his head and wiggled his eyebrows. "You'll like this plan." He paused dramatically. "How would you like to go to the East Yamanis?"

"What are you talking about?"

He lowered his arms and leaned toward Faleron's ear, whispering his plan. As Faleron heard it, he frowned. Cleon stood back, his invincible smile lighting the room. Both men gradually sat down on the sofa. The taller man waited expectantly for an answer.

"You thought of that all by yourself?"

"As if I couldn't!" Once again, indignation.

Faleron shrugged. "I didn't mean that. Well, you must admit, this is a bit out of character—"

"Asshole! I _did_ think of this!" he growled. "Well? Are you gong to help or not?"

The former thief picked invisible lint off his shoulder, giving off airs that he was in deep consideration. The plan was a little off center, but so was Cleon. Faleron couldn't overlook the fact that it might take weeks to get the sort of approval needed for him to participate in such a reckless, but thoughtful plan.

"Fianola—Fia, that is—she won't like it."

"Since when did you let her make your decisions for you?" Cleon challenged. He sighed. Faleron made all his life's decisions instantaneously. That's the sort of man he was. It didn't mean that he made hasty choices. Faleron simply figured out the best choice before everyone else—every single time. His hesitance now was intentional. He didn't like the idea, Cleon decided. Otherwise, he would have spoken up.

"Cleon," Faleron said at last, speaking very carefully. "Why exactly do you want to do this?"

"You know why. I'm sure you figured out why I wanted to do this within a nanosecond."

"I'd rather hear you say it."

Cleon glared at him. "Because they are our friends and they are in trouble. They would do the same for us, no matter what the risk or the expense. Sure, you can listen to expert advice and send other professionals out there to do the searching _for_ you. But it's not the same. You can only trust yourself."

The air around Faleron's nose seemed to turn stale. "You do realize that you jeopardize your job by putting sentimental attachments first, right?"

"I always have. What's so different about now?"

The memory of Scanra and Faleron's near execution was a sour reminder. If it hadn't been for that sheer act of courage and stupidity, Faleron would not be alive that day. He relented. So Cleon was right. The heart was the sharpshooter's guide. It had been and always would be, as long as friends like Faleron were around to give him reason and purpose.

Faleron shook his head. It was an admirable trait, this loyalty to friends. Where Cleon was concerned, he would gladly come to the rescue. But the rest of them? Faleron wasn't sure if he could sacrifice that much for Joren or Neal. They were friends, but were they… _friends_? The type of friends he couldn't bear to live without? That was what Cleon was to him, at least—a brother. Could he consider Joren and Neal brothers? 

Frustrated at himself more than anyone else, he wished that Cleon would learn to pick his battles. One day, this running-into-the-middle-of-the-fray approach to life would hurt Cleon seriously. Perhaps it would kill him. 

"Don't you think Kalasin may be annoyed with it?" he asked, playing off Cleon's weakness.

"Stop trying to find excuses, dude. You make this decision for yourself… because you want to help. No one else matters." The severity of his expression was like very few that Faleron had seen before. It was almost like gravity, keeping them grounded on earth during such a turbulent time. 

He nodded. It was a decision that he would regret later, but he would do it nonetheless. Faleron agreed. "I'll see her tomorrow and ask," he announced and got up. "I'll go to Daine and make a request. Even if she says yes, it could still take a while. You know that."

"We'll see. I bet I could speed it up."

Faleron doubted it, but did not say a word. Plucky people did not usually take kindly to being talked out of something.

~~

An hour passed quickly. Cleon was waving to Keladry as the bus came in. She appeared much older as she looked out from the bus window. Perhaps it was the tinted glass that made her look older. He couldn't tell. As soon as she was off the bus, he jogged toward his friend and embraced her tightly. She let out a muffled 'oof' as his body more or less collided with hers.

"Hey, hey. Oxygen," she gasped.

He let go immediately, blushing. She gave him a weak smile and lifted up one of her bags while he retrieved the other two that were stowed below. Keladry observed him thoughtfully. Something had changed about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. As soon as he held both her bags, she stopped in front of him.

"What? Do I have something in my teeth?" Cleon frowned.

She sighed. "Well…"

"I knew I shouldn't have eaten the corn. That stuff always gets stuck in your teeth."

"You can't digest it either."

Cleon started laughing loudly. "Tell me about it! A buddy of mine cooked up a scheme back at the Academy to get out of a class by eating all this creamed corn. He puked everywhere, naturally, and got easy duty for a week!" He whooped. "Oh, man, I ought to pull that trick on Flyndon if he tries putting me on traffic control for punishment again."

She winced. Maybe he hadn't changed after all.

"Where's Fal? I thought he was coming with you to pick me up."

Cleon nervously chuckled. "Tending to business." His voice smoothened out. "Civilians do have their own jobs to do, you know. I'm ashamed—"

"Don't start with the melodrama," She warned. "I'm actually surprised that _you_ don't forget that he's a civilian."

He didn't reply. Pretending hat it never happened, Cleon led her to the squad car, puffing visible streams of breath into the chilly air. It was warmer than up north in Irontown, but still cold enough.

"Welcome to Kennan Limousines! You'll find as a courtesy service, a pre-opened, half-eaten bag of chips on the dashboard and a can of grape soda in the drink holder." He grinned and ushered her into the car. He threw her bags into the back and strolled over to the driver's side. As he sat down and shut the door, he flashed daring eyes. "Please keep all body parts within the vehicle at all times. We may be experiencing a bit of turbulence…"

She wondered if he was mixing airplane lingo with tour tram lingo, but decided to let it go. It dawned on her after he started the car that _he_ would be driving. Keladry frantically put on her seatbelt and gripped the armrest on the door. "Um… Perhaps I should have called and asked Roald to pick me up."

"Oh, but Miss Keladry! I'm the best chauffeur there ever was!"

"I don't think so, _Alfred_. You drive like a bat of hell rather than like a butler for the bat cave."

He emitted a sound that she could only classify as a cackle. Becoming pale, Keladry slumped lower in her seat and gulped. She steeled herself for the inevitably _interesting_ experience. But with all her mental preparation, she still let out a small squeak as the car roared to life and took off at a rather abnormal speed.

"The speed limit says 35, not 53!"

He shrugged. "As long as I don't see it, it's not illegal—"

"Yes it is!"

"Oh. Oh well, then."

…

"Did you see that?! It came out of nowhere!"

"The car was _parked_, Cleon."

"Says _you_."

…

"Hey, we drive on the right side of the road, just to let you know."

"I know that!"

"Could have fooled me."

...

"Didn't Faleron teach you how to drive when you took Kalasin out for your first date?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Well, why aren't you driving like it?" she demanded.

He winked. "If you were Kalasin, it would be different. Alas, you neither possess beautiful raven hair nor mysterious smoky eyes OR large—ow! Ow, ow, okay! Slowing down!"

~~

Daine didn't know what to make of the proposal at first; should she consider it a lame joke or a brief spurt of insanity on his part? Of all her employees, Faleron seemed to be the most levelheaded, if not the most suited to his job. Though he did not possess the bachelor's degree in this or that, or even a diploma indicating he had finished school, she always thought of him as her most intelligent aide.

The fact that he was sitting before her, requesting this _unbelievable_ idea (which she suspected came from a certain redhead not unknown to her) shocked her into silence.

"Ms. Sarrasri?" the young man said. His voice hinted at no nervousness.  He probably had a feeling of what her response would be and seemed to have accepted it.

She cleared her throat. "Faleron, how long have you worked for me?"

"Not long enough to matter, if that's what you were thinking," he replied, eyes lowered to desk top in front of him. 

It was an impossible thing that he was requesting. They both knew this. Daine rubbed her temples and sighed. "Faleron, I'm aware who your friends are. But since I've met you, it's been one thing after another. You need a break to help them with this. You need a vacation to go off and do _that_."

"You took a brief part in that vacation, too, ma'am," he corrected. Then he hastily added, "Not to contradict your point, of course."

She rolled her eyes. "What do _you_ think my answer will be?"

"Your answer will be 'no' at first. Then I'll have to spend a long amount of time arguing until you crack," he answered. His expression was one of absolute seriousness. She knew that he would be willing to sit there until past midnight talking to her if he had to.

The clock ticked noisily in the background. Minutes passed before Daine stopped scrutinizing his countenance and stood up. She walked over to her file cabinet, which Lalasa would have organized if the Carthaki weren't on her extended honeymoon, and extracted a folder from its depths. She then returned to her seat. Faleron took the folder from her offering hands.

"Well then, to save us both the trouble of insomnia, here's _my_ proposal. Accept these terms and we should start to come to an understanding."

"An understanding?" Faleron raised one eyebrow questioningly.

Daine leaned forward and turned her flat screen monitor around so it faced him. She also scooted the keyboard toward him. Leaning back in her chair, she gestured for him to type. "I know you've figured out five billion solutions to our predicament. And I'm sure you could easily tell which one I would choose. So present my solution to me, Mr. King."

He had to admit that he was greatly impressed by his employer's sense of humor (or sense of business?). This was the confident, professional persona that had so greatly attracted Numair to her. Faleron could understand why now. He laid his hands on the keyboard and began searching for particularities in her desktop organizer that he needed.

Multiple windows opened on screen, each streaming lines of text and pictures—some being logos and trademark letterheads to prestigious Mithran organizations. He finally stopped on a international nature preservation organization that Daine was publicly affiliated with.

"I understand that the Helping Hands, Paws, and Claws organization is looking for places in the world that have little to no human populations—for research on animals living there and their natural ecosystem. They want to extend their branches." He smirked. "Oh, and of all the sponsors, you're one of three who hasn't yet decided to start and support a project."

"Am I?" she smiled knowingly.

He nodded. "Ah. And there happens to be an ex-zoologist by the name of Harold Hornbill who lives among the natives in the nationalized village of Shotaru at the base of the Kai Nishen Mountain. Oh, my, my, my… isn't that a part of the East Yamani Mountain Range?"

"It is."

Faleron tapped his chin. "I think it would be lovely to see the mountains this time of the year."

Daine didn't change her pleased expression. "You have one month for general inspection of the East Yamani ecosystem. At the end of that month, you _will_ report to Mr. Hornbill and begin talks of starting a project."

"A month?" he blinked. "I had no idea you were going to be so generous!"

She snorted. "Oh, you little liar. You knew I was going to do that because you know I'm too nice _not_ to give you a free month." She glared at him, still smilingly slightly and (was he imagining it?) suspiciously. "The condition is—"

He closed his eyes and nodded. "This is the last time. I know. After this, I'm chained to this office and I do not go over my quota in vacation time. Understood."

"You're lucky that I have such connections."

"And thankful," he added modestly. "Very, very thankful. Are there any other conditions?"

She shrugged. "You tell me."

"Well, I will be needing escorts." He put on a fake grin, which he knew she could see through. "Now that I think about it, it's probably horrible out there! A real beastly place! I'll need bodyguards of the highest merit!" He chuckled. "I did hear from a vague acquaintance up at the Roof of the World that smugglers and rare mineral scavengers have been plaguing _every _cold continent that has a rock on it. Who is to say that they won't be in the Eastern Yamanis?"

Daine wanted to refute him by saying that it was a scientific fact that no precious metals existed in the Eastern Yamanis, but she decided not to spoil his perfect score. Persuasion was his greatest weapon and it would be a blow to a pride to correct him now. She settled for an uncharacteristic giggle and nodded. "I hear that Ms. Mindelan and Mr. Kennan aren't doing much these days. Perhaps I ought to make a phone call to their superior and hire them?"

"The DJPF? I thought you weren't allowed to employ bodyguards from the DJPF unless it was a Federal matter?"

"I'm a councilwoman, aren't I? And this international environmental project is right up my alley—promotion of good foreign relation and environmental soundness?"

He faked a blush. "Of course. Excuse me."

"Faleron?"

"Yes?"

"How did someone like you become so adept at kissing ass?"

He shrugged. "An inborn talent, I suppose."

"You ought to teach it to your fellow coworkers," she advised. Daine inwardly grimaced at the incompetence around her when Faleron was not around. Roald and Lalasa's temporary replacements did not impress her either. "They could use it."

~~

Keladry was very tired, but also very, very hungry. She hadn't realized it until Dom had opened his door and a wonderful aroma wafted over to her nostrils. Her stomach immediately grumbled, signaling her friends to her plight. Dom offered a sympathetic smile and offered her dinner after she put her bags away.

She graciously accepted. It was normally her style to decline and cook her own food, but Keladry doubted that she would be able to lift a metal pot at this point, let alone work the stove. 

"Don't worry about the bags," Cleon said, almost too quickly. He cleared his throat and grinned. Then, he shifted one of the bag straps on his shoulder and took the remaining luggage from Keladry. "I'll get it.  No problem. Go in and have a bite to eat."

"I should have eaten the potato chips in your car," she sighed. "Can you get in without me?"

The light must have been playing tricks on her eyes. She could have sworn that there was nervous bead of sweat hanging onto the edge of Cleon's face. The redhead started to move backward, continuing down the hall. "No problem!" he insisted. "I still have your key code, if that's what you mean. I didn't delete it or lose it, see?"

"Cleon?" she frowned.

"Go! Go eat! Raise your cholesterol! In the name of turkey basters and TV dinners!"

Dom, red-faced, glared at the sharpshooter. "My cooking is very healthy, thank you, Mr. Kennan." His expression was not as controlled and sophisticated. It clearly communicated, _Oh, I'll tell you where you can stick that turkey baster, Tofu Boy. _Needless to say, Cleon made a quick retreat down the hallway. The Rider calmed again and descended from his angry, volcanic peak. "Shall we eat?"

Keladry followed him inside and sat down at the kitchenette counter. She leaned over the stove and oven and breathed in the scent of whatever Dom was cooking. It was definitely not a TV dinner. Keladry's mouth watered.

"What _is_ that?"

"Surprise," he smirked. He glanced at her fleetingly, ducking his head behind his refrigerator door. It had been a while since he and Kel had talked alone. Of course, every time he had ever seen her, Joren had been nipping at her heels like a resentful puppy.

_Oh, wouldn't he just_ kill _me for using that simile_? He thought mischievously. Dom asked Keladry without looking at her what she would prefer to drink. She replied that she would like water. _Always the reserved type, too polite to ask for anything better. _He sighed and filled up a glass for her and for himself. 

"Should I get a plate for Cleon?" he called out.

"More like a feeding trough," Keladry responded, not missing a beat. They both chuckled. He closed the fridge, wondering whether or not he should have offered her something better to go with the Chicken Marsala. Wine? No, that would seem a bit strange. He always associated wine with romance and he certainly didn't want to be flirting with Joren's woman.

The decision was based more on Dom's desire to continue breathing without a life support machine rather than any natural respect for his old 'friend.' They were both definitely _factors_… the former being _far _more effective than the latter.

"Dom?" Keladry frowned. She waved her hand in front of her face. "Your buzzer is going off."

_Gah! Is that slang for '_You have a boner_' or something?!_ He immediately panicked. Then, when he realized that she was referring to the timer on his oven, buzzing in a low inoffensive manner, Dom breathed a sigh of relief and crouched down to extract his pan from the oven. He chuckled to himself and apologized. 

"Sorry about that. I must have spaced out. I was thinking of… something."

"You want to talk about it?" she asked in a reluctant voice. She wasn't too good at connecting with people. That was obvious, i.e. her rather conservative, be-still-as-a-lake life story. She only hoped that Dom didn't want to share whatever he was thinking about.

Fortunately, he denied her that potential embarrassment. They pulled up stools to the kitchen counter while Dom served them the chicken breasts covered with a creamy sauce that Keladry could only describe as heavenly. She picked out the small mushrooms and tasted them first. They ate mostly in silence. Keladry inserted numerous phrases of praise for the delightful dish while he modestly muttered that he could have made better.

Keladry sat up straight, pushing away from the counter and taking a sip of her water. Her face was aglow with an inner light, it seemed. She didn't notice it. Instead, carrying on as if nothing was wrong, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

He took it as a sign of contentment. His spirits were immediately uplifted. Dom was very glad that she enjoyed his cooking. Of course, he was nothing compared to some of the other members of the Riders' Own, such as Lerant or Qasim. But he was a single man approaching his thirties. If he was going to survive without becoming bored by other people's food, he had to know how to make his own. 

Looking at the young woman seated across from him, Dom saw everything that he had deprived himself of. It was difficult to maintain a relationship with a woman, even harder when he moved around so much. Lerant and Yuki chose to date within the group to prevent that long distance dilemma. And recently, Dom had been prone to notice Fianola's periods of sullenness when she was far away from Faleron. Fianola was young, but she knew better. He doubted that he would be able to look any happier than her, given the same circumstances.

Without even realizing it, his eyes wandered from the top of Keladry's head, to her eyelids, her nose, her lips—even her flushed cheeks, tired from exertion and travel. He mentally yelled at himself to stop looking, but he could not help it. 

_She's such a nice person. Very thoughtful of others… loyal to friends and family. Strong-willed… determined… Not to mention she is kind of cute…_ Dom looked down at his plate. He idly pushed the food around with his fork. He wasn't too hungry anymore. Actually, it felt as if butterflies were fluttering in his stomach. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Keladry?" he began. His throat was so dry. _Nerves? Me?_ He shook his head. What was he doing? He'd known Joren for _years_, seen the tin man find a heart of his own—all thanks to this woman before him. And Dom was going to mess with _that_?

She sipped from her water again and smiled. "Yes?"

_No. I can't do this. I won't do that to them… to_ him, he thought decisively. He took a deep breath and stood up. "Why don't you take up some of the chicken to Cleon? I have a feeling he fell asleep on his errand."

Dom mechanically began to wrap up a plate of food with plastic wrap for her to take with her. He was both relieved and disappointed that their short time together was over so soon. It was cut off even shorter when Keladry's pager began beeping.

"Who in the world would be contacting me now?"

She got up from her stool and checked the number. "It's Flyndon. That's strange. Dom, can I use your COMscreen?"

"Oh, go right ahead." He was relieved to be away from her. She tempted him without even realizing it. He knew if it had been any other woman, he would probably have felt tempted just the same. He simply felt so _lonely that night. If only it were some other woman eating dinner in his apartment! Then he might give in to his repressed desires. _

Alas, he settled for distancing himself once again from all womankind. He picked up their dishes and strode purposely toward the sink. The distraction of chores was most welcome.

Keladry moved over to his COM screen in the living room and called up her boss. She wondered if he knew that she was home. Perhaps he did. Why else would he call her while she was on leave?

When she saw his face on screen, she quickly saluted and waited for him to speak first.

"Keladry, have you finished settling matters at home?" he asked. 

She hesitated. "There is not much else I can do at this point. I understand if I must return to work for a short while… just until there is something else that can be done."

He nodded. "I'm sorry that I contacted you tonight, but I have work for you that I can't put off on someone else."

What sort of work was he talking about? She assumed it was classified. After all, she was a high-ranking First Class officer. If he couldn't give this particular task to someone else, it must have the utmost importance and priority.

"You've been requested by Ms. Daine Sarrasri to act as bodyguard to one of her envoys to the Yamanis." He paused. "I know that this might be difficult for you, considering your current tragedy. I even attempted to talk Ms. Sarrasri out of it, but she specifically asked for you and Kennan."

Her eyes widened. "_And_ Kennan? Cleon was requested, too?"

"Yes. In fact, he's already been informed of the job. Please be prepared to meet with Ms. Sarrasri and her chosen representative tomorrow. She'll be expecting you downtown at her main office." He bowed his head to her. "My sympathies, once again, Keladry. If there are any problems that you absolutely cannot handle, you have comrades down here at the station. You know that."

She nodded numbly and ended the transmission. 

Meanwhile, Dom, having eavesdropped, cautiously began drying dishes with a wash towel. He looked over his shoulder and frowned. His guest was awfully quiet. Was she truly that shocked at the turn of events? He finished drying the last dish and set it down. 

"Keladry?"

"He set this up. Cleon! I'm going to _kill_ that redheaded, meddling little—"

He winced. "You don't mean that, do you? It sounds like he was trying to help."

The female officer spun around, her eyes cold, but not glaring. It shocked him to see that there was a disturbingly calm expression on her face.

"I can't go."

Dom put down the wash towel and approached her, keeping to his side of the kitchen counter. The barrier wasn't much, but he felt safer being distanced from her. Keladry appeared a bit _unhinged_ and he didn't know how to respond.

"Why can't you go?" he asked in a small, pacifying voice.

"I promised my mother I wouldn't go anywhere near there. It's enough that two of her sons have gone. Adding me to the list of missing persons would not help keep her sanity intact," Keladry uttered in a low voice. She stared hard at the floor.

He let out a deep breath. "I think you should go."

"And what?" she asked, suddenly, her head jerking upwards. She scowled. "And what? Break my mother's promise? Just, do my job? I can't be _that_ close to the mountains and _not_ go look for Anders and Conal! And what about Joren? He'll think that I don't have enough faith in him to do his _own_ job. He and Neal got themselves hired as the search party. They have permission to be there—"

"And so do you. Thank the meddling little redhead," he said solemnly. His raised finger pointed over her shoulder at the door. 

She turned around. Her eyes rested on her tall, usually jovial friend. He stood in the doorway of the apartment, clutching his jacket. His knuckles were white from gripping the garments so tightly. He offered a nervous smile, but stayed rooted to the spot.

"Oh, Cleon," Keladry breathed. She sighed. "I'm not mad."

The painfully nice, but clumsy young man shrugged helplessly and took a hesitant step forward. "I understand if you are. Faleron said I was taking a huge risk."

Keladry folded her arms across her chest. "I take it he was the one who persuaded Ms. Daine?"

"Yeah. Don't blame him either! I talked him into it."

"No, no, you didn't." She said it without malice. It was quite impossible for anyone to talk Faleron into anything he didn't want to do. Faleron made all his own decisions based on his own ideals and didn't give a damn for anyone else's opinion. At least, Keladry concluded, that was how she had always regarded him.

The silence became unbearably oppressive. Dom picked up a covered plate and walked toward Cleon. He handed him the plate. "Here's dinner. You might have to reheat it again. We didn't know if you were going to be eating with us or not, so we put out a plate for you anyway."

The other man instantly brightened. He grinned widely and accepted the plate. "Free food? No complaints here." He took a peek under the wrap. "Ew… what is that? Fungus?!"

"Those mushrooms were specifically _grown for eating, Cleon."_

"Oh. D'uh, I knew that. I was just testing you."

"Whatever you say."

Keladry interrupted their casual exchange. "Anyway, thanks for dinner, Dom. You need to write down the recipe for me sometime so I can learn how to cook."

Dom followed her to the door, laughing. "Why bother? Joren can teach you how to cook. His Chicken Marsala is better than mine."

Keladry and Cleon froze in their tracks. They turned to the Rider, mouths gaping and quite flabbergasted. Keladry finally found the voice to speak. "Seriously?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah." A mischievous thought came to mind. "Ask him about his _meat_loaf."

Cleon frowned. "Meatloaf?"

Dom blushed. "Not you! Her!"

"Oh." Then realization dawned on him. "Oooohh. Nope, definitely don't want to ask about his meatloaf," Cleon coughed and took a step into the hallway. He waited for Keladry to say goodbye to her host.

She hugged the Rider distractedly, thinking of Joren as a cook. "Thanks again for the food."

"No problem." He tightened their embrace and closed his eyes. This was probably as close to a female as he was ever going to get. His line of work was too demanding. He himself was too fussy over selection to ever settle down anyway.

The redhead watched them, pouting. He got a bad vibes watching Dom hold Keladry so long. He'd seen this before, but he couldn't believe his own eyes. How many times did _this_ have to happen? And to her of all people? Cleon averted his gaze and waited for Keladry to join him.

The door closed and they continued on their way to their own rooms. He glanced at her, sighing.

"Kel?"

"Yes? I already told you, I'm not mad. We'll take the job."

He shook his head. "It's not that. It's just…"

"What?" 

Her innocent eyes unnerved him. Did she really have no idea? Couldn't she see what she did to guys sometimes, without even knowing? Sure, she was the least likely to be feminine or romantic in any way, but there was something else about Keladry Mindelan that made her irresistible.

_If only she knew._

They came to a stop in front of her doorway. Cleon hugged her quickly, his free hand resting on her shoulder and squeezing. "Dewdrop, you've got to watch your step."

Confused, she nodded slowly. "Of course, I will." _Did he just call me Dewdrop? I thought that name was reserved for Kalasin. Oh, he's just being strange. That's all._

Cleon didn't harbor feelings for Keladry. He respected her as a good friend: loyal and trustworthy in times of emergency. He wanted to tell her what exactly she had to watch out for. But he knew she had to learn this on her own. Even if it meant getting hurt. _And hurting other people…_

"Goodnight," she called to him as he left.

He took a deep breath and shouted loudly. "Good night, Tough Stuff!"

"Cleon! Shh!" she predictably hissed. He grinned and went on his way. 

~~

Keladry prepared for bed. Cleon must have felt incredibly guilty after leaving her with Dom. He had already taken most of her belongings from her bags and placed them in neat stacks on her dresser. The exception was her undergarments, knowing that just touching them warranted death. 

Yawning, the pajama-clad young woman sat down in front of her computer terminal and checked for any messages. She wished desperately to simply hear from Joren. Even if it meant getting an earful of curses and swears, she wouldn't mind. At least she would know that he was still living and breathing.

"Does he think about me?" she wondered out loud. A blush rose to her cheeks. She scolded herself for being so mushy and got up from her chair.

After three steps, she turned around and sat back down again. Her fingers deftly typed out a word into the search engine of her Internet service provider. She waited impatiently for the list of results to appear.

Keladry growled. The screen of answers proved to be useless. She lightly pounded her fist on the table and folded her arms disappointedly over her chest.

"What the hell did he mean by _meatloaf_?"

~~

Author: Yay! After weeks and weeks and weeks, I finally posted! And ironically, I'm supposed to be studying for my last AP test! Whee! For the last month, I've had rigorous testing for all sorts of things not even related to my grades in school. Sad, eh? Well, school is finished now. It ended on the 23rd of May and I enjoyed a fruitful weekend (I got a plate for the front of my car. It's a mirror plate that reads Foo Fighters in big black letters) and I look forward to a fruitful summer (I'm volunteer job hunting. I need 50 hours before next April, and I'll be too busy once school starts up). 

So! If anyone knows of volunteer ideas (THAT DON'T INVOLVE HOSPITALS) then tell me! I'm already aware of Habitats for Humanity and whatnot. I'm not old enough to help out. And I'm not too good with cats and dogs (birds and other, a-okay!). So please help me out! Otherwise, I'll be spazzing in my spare time instead of writing… (Warning, warning…)

Yeah, so what's the "love interest" count for Kel? Ulliver, Zell, Liam, Joren… I wasn't even doing it on purpose. It just seemed to fit. Ah well. Jaelawyn Noble and I have reason to believe that I accidentally made some references during the first season for a little crush Faleron might have had on her during their first meeting (that panty thief!). It wasn't even intentional, I swear. But if you go back and look at his body language and his charm, you'll see that he did have the tiniest of crushes on Kel. Weird, huh?

-Sulia S.

p.s. the meatloaf joke is also known as the "bratwurst" joke. *wink wink* poor naïve Keladry…


	7. Vows

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 7: Vows          **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13? *shrug* Just recently, I heard someone got flagged because they had the words "nude body" and a reader considered those words "R" rating. Is that _really_? Because Heaven knows I've got worse stuff than that as lower ratings. *shrugging again* Maybe I'm brainwashed to have too high a tolerance. I'm sure if I did get flagged (not that I will…), all you wonderful people would gang up on the offender and defend me. *blows kiss* Muah.

~~

Lalasa sat at her table—her brand new table. Upon returning from their honeymoon, Roald and Lalasa had moved into their new apartment. It was a nice place, which fortunately happened to be a five-minute's drive to their employer's house. Perhaps that had been the reason for the discount on the originally expensive price tag on their home. 

She loved it anyway. It was not so spacious, but it was practically new. It felt like being on a clean, comfy piece of furniture all the time, no matter where you were in the apartment. Everything was new, but not so new that the sheets were still stiff from lack of use… or the towels still rough, having not been through wash cycle enough times. 

The living room pleased her the most. A soft, pale green loveseat faced the kitchen while the sofa faced the holoscreen. The matching recliner was situated next to a small table with a lamp and a COMscreen on it. She could spend hours sitting in that chair, chatting on the phone with whomever she wanted. Friends, family…

Well, maybe not family. 

Friends? Of course, she could always—

Lalasa looked up from her place at the table and glanced at the COMscreen in the living room. Joren and Neal had left for the Yamanis days ago. She'd found out after talking to Cleon yesterday. That wasn't too bad. She never went out of her way to chat with Neal. And she didn't bother Joren unless she saw him with Kel. 

_Kel_, she thought. Cleon had also told her that Keladry had left to see her family. Then the redheaded proceeded to tell her that Keladry, Faleron, and he would be leaving Tusaine that very day on a business trip for Daine. Lalasa couldn't believe her luck (more correctly, her lack _of_ luck). 

Roald walked out of the master bedroom, fixing a deep red tie around his neck. His blue trousers were freshly ironed and his pinstriped shirt was buttoned up, the cufflinks even in place. Lalasa cast a speculative eye on her husband. "And where are you going? I thought we still had the day off."

He approached her, flashing a charming smile, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "A councilman from Tortall is going to arrive before lunch. I'm his guide for the duration of his stay."

"Oh? Promoted from chauffeur, then?"

He shrugged. "Apparently." He noted her frown. "Why are you complaining? I'm going to get a raise and _you_ will get your shopping spree."

Was she that predictable? Lalasa stood up and began adjusting his necktie for him. She scattered small butterfly kisses on his face and neck as she did so. The sound of his chuckles in her ear tempted her to nip at his own ear.

"Hey! Hey, don't start that _now_, or I might have to call in sick." He scolded her, winking in a most promising way.

She backed off, satisfied with the effects her teasing had. She tapped the table again, recalling what she had been doing previously. "I've been trying to write up a list of people to have over. You know, for the housewarming party… also known as your birthday party."

"I told you I didn't want a birthday party. It'll be a very early birthday party, anyhow. The actual date is a month after the party date."

Lalasa sighed. "Well, either way, it's not going to be much of a party. All our friends are in or are about to be in the Eastern Yamanis. The only people left to invite are _their_ friends, the other officers that we don't know so well."

"What about the people at the office?"

She snorted. "You know you can't stand them. They're all so boring and they hate our enthusiasm and energy." The Carthaki woman paused. "I think it's because we're too used to all the fun and energy we see in our DJPF friends. They're always on the go and energetic. It rubs off on us and that sort of thing isn't too useful in a boring office."

Roald went to the coat closet for his blazer and jacket. "Don't worry about it. Just invite everyone that's home. It's not going to be the same without Kel and the others, but we'll just make do."

It wouldn't "make do", but neither of them wanted to say it. Like Faleron, they had been mostly content to sit on the sidelines and to watch their friends go about, vanquishing evildoers. But sometimes, Lalasa and Roald had to admit that they yearned for the old days. At least Faleron tagged along with Cleon wherever the redhead went. At least _he_ could still pretend that they were on the run from the law, wrongfully accused fugitives making a trek across the nation.

"I think I've been bored for the last few months. Truly bored," Roald murmured. When he received a flash of annoyance from his wife's eyes, he quickly corrected himself. "Besides the wedding and everything, of course. What I mean to say is…"

She sighed. "Who in their right mind would actually miss the thought of people chasing them down and shooting them? Yes, I know what you mean. We must be insane for missing _that_."

He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go." He shrugged on his jacket and quickly kissed her. "We'll have lunch and, uh, make plans for something exciting."

She glared at him. "We just came back from our honeymoon. Wasn't that exciting enough for you?"

"Of course it was!" Roald blushed. He sputtered for the words. "I thought what you just said right now was… er, that is…"

The thing that she loved more than anything else was her husband's ability to reduce himself to a nervous little schoolboy, so eager to please, but not so quick to annoy. She cooed at him apologetically. "Go on, poor little boy. Go to work and I'll see you later."

He childishly stuck out his tongue at her and headed for the door. He would only let her get away with such humiliating things. Was that what it was, then? The reason he married her? Roald closed the door behind him and smiled to himself, remembering their lengthy vacation directly after the wedding. The happiness, the sunshine, the long _hot_ nights…

_Married life has done this body_ *good*…

~~

Before too long, traffic had started to delay the progression of commuters around the city. Apparently, construction was underway for street maintenance and road widening in several key areas around the city. Construction workers in orange vests redirected traffic while Third Class DJPF officers stood off to the side to make sure the public cooperated without any 'road-rage' outbursts.

Roald leaned his elbow out the window, chin resting on top of his forearm. He considered himself an infinitely patient man, but what were the chances that the arriving councilman was just as patient? At least he had left very early from home. He would be able to arrive just as the plane landed.

Calm as could be, Roald reached for the radio and turned up the volume. He leaned back and relaxed as the familiar melody washed over him. Strange how certain words and tones bring back everything that man has thought he's lost. Memories of "the good old days" resurfaced in Roald's mind, a home video of times he'd cherished. 

_Closing time_

_Open all the doors_

_And let you out into the world_

_Closing time_

_Turn all of the lights off_

_Over every boy and every girl_

How many hotels had they slept in? How many times had they had to forge fake identification files? Roald couldn't even remember how long Joren had commanded all the men not to shave for the sake of covering their faces. It was hardly noticed nor mentioned, but he and the other males had become accustomed to looking like those old decrepit fishermen—the kind he always noticed sitting by a wharf, scratching their scraggly beards.

Whenever he had been forced to stand before a motel's employee or manager, he'd always had the secret desire to swagger and spit. Lalasa and Keladry shared no camaraderie of having to disguise themselves (any comment Cleon could have made about _their_ facial hair would most likely have warranted trouble). The two young women had merely entered their room and slammed the door in utter exhaustion.

If it weren't for Faleron and Lalasa's secret bank accounts and connections, then they wouldn't even have had any money to pay for those slammed doors. The DJPF had frozen everyone else's accounts.

_Closing time_

_One last call for alcohol_

_So finish your whisky or beer_

_Closing time_

_You don't have to go home_

_But you can't stay here_

Roald had been over at Faleron's apartment during one of the shorter man's unusually cheery days. It was the night before his bachelor's party. Faleron's humble domicile had been chosen as the site of the "hot chicks" movie-marathon (selection made 100% by Nealan Queenscove). The male Riders tagged along with Neal and Cleon since Roald had no one else to invite. 

Surprisingly, it had been Dom and Joren who had actually showed up an hour later bringing whisky and beer. Joren denied any wish to be there at all. Yet he had been the one to drink the rest of them under the table, Roald excluded. 

It brought a whole new meaning to the phrase "last man standing".

_I know who I want to take me home_

_I know who I want to take me home_

_I know who I want to take me home_

_Take me home…._

Yes, Roald and Joren had dragged _all_ of them home… with a short pit stop where Prosper and Lerant vomited over the second story rail of the elevated breezeway. Stefan had cursed a blue streak when he stepped out the next morning.

_Closing time_

_Time for you to go out_

_To the places you will be from_

_Closing time_

_This room won't be open _

_'til your brothers or your sisters come_

_So gather up your jackets_

_And move it to the exits_

_I hope you have found a friend_

_Closing time_

_Every new beginning comes_

_From some other beginning's end_

_Yeah_

Roald would always remember the first time he had met Lalasa. Cleon had told him that at first sight, Lalasa had thought Roald was a dead body in the trunk of Joren and Keladry's car. Obviously, that was not the case. He regained consciousness and came face to face with several strangers.

His new best friends.

Lalasa had taken a liking to him right away. He'd noticed it. And he'd also noticed himself take an immediate shine to her as well. She was cute _and_ spunky. Attending boarding school and taking up residence with different politicians had not left time for flirting with the female kind. He had been so utterly shy that before he could have any light conversation with Lalasa, he'd concentrated on begging Joren to be allowed to travel with them.

_I know who I want to take me home_

_I know who I want to take me home_

_I know who I want to take me home_

_Take me home…_

(Flashback with continued repetition of song's chorus)

"Wait! Please, take me with you," Roald begged. "I can't be caught by them. I can't stand it here! I'll go crazy if I stay!"

"Let's have him come with us," Lalasa nodded. Roald was very attractive, and he had that fresh innocent face that was very rare in people his age. "We can't just leave him here, Stone."

Joren didn't reply at first. Then he started toward the restroom. "Whatever. We leave within the next ten minutes. Buy your food and get in the car."

Roald grinned. "Thanks a lot."

"Oh, it's nothing," Lalasa replied, taking his arm. "Now, you just sit yourself in the back with the rest of the guys and rest. The vice President's handsome, noble son running away. Hmm… And now joining us on our quest to find the truth about the government. I bet you could help us."

Roald blushed.

(End flashback)

_…Closing time_

_Every new beginning comes _

_From some other beginning's end…_

~~

Lalasa finished calling the last person on her list. She had also taken care to invite Daine and Numair. Numair… the man never went a month without finding an excuse to visit. Why didn't he give in and request a transfer? Weren't his frequent visits more than enough to insinuate any relationship? At that point, moving to town shouldn't have any effect.

Besides them, the Riders' Own were invited. Lalasa found that she rather liked Yuki's company. The demolition expert had a very gung-ho approach to everything that reminded Lalasa of her own boldness. Lalasa was also sure that she would have Fianola's friendship, too, if the younger girl would only come home to Tusaine more often. Half of the Riders were still out of town on their own agenda.

The Carthaki woman resigned herself to be content watching the cooking channel on the Holoscreen. Darn technology made the food look so real that she became desperately hungry just looking at it. She took note of where to access the recipes on the Internet and changed channels. If she watched any more, Lalasa was sure that she would never be able to get through it without giving in to the temptation of stuffing food in her mouth.

Instead, her mind turned to a less pleasant topic. Something had recently been plaguing her mind since she and Roald had returned from their honeymoon. She'd had her suspicions, but could she really trust her intuition?

_No_, she thought. _It can't be._ Her uncertainty got the better of her. Before she knew what she was doing, she turned on the COMscreen. While she was dialing the number, she attempted to calculate the amount of time she would have before Roald called in to check on her.

_Not enough time._

~~

The week passed with little surprise. The housewarming party was relaxing, if anything. Soft piano music played in the background while guests stood around, sipping drinks and tasting finger foods. They held conversations with each other while complimenting the new residence of Mr. and Mrs. Roald Jasson. 

Dom found it peculiarly hard to enjoy himself. He had looked forward to some social interaction. A man could suffer the antics of his coworkers only for so long before he became bored or, worse, annoyed beyond belief. Upon entering the apartment, he swept Lalasa into a hearty hug. He also handed Roald the small housewarming gift, a coupon book for take-out and delivery book. He hadn't thought it was too tacky. Dom had reasoned to himself that he'd given the couple a very nice blender at their wedding. There wasn't any need for him to be too generous.

His fellow Riders mingled with other minor DJPF that had met Lalasa and Roald's acquaintance. The rest of the party members consisted of Federal employees that Daine mingled with. Perhaps the party had also been an elaborate plan for the councilwoman and her two favorite employees to get to know "higher-ups". 

He was even surprised to see Kalasin. The spy appeared reserved, dressed in a black blouse and black slacks. Her hair was drawn back from her face in an elegant upsweep the curved into a strategically sloppy bun. It was the most elegant Dom had ever seen her and told her so, having missed seeing her at Roald's wedding.

"What? Can't I look nice for my brother's party?"

Was it him or was the soda becoming flat? "Oh, of course. I was simply under the impression that you preferred more practical appearances."

"I do, but this is for Roald. My baby brother deserves a sister that at least looks partially female."

"Sorry." He coughed nervously. "I was also under the impression that the two of you weren't that close… considering that you only met him this last summer."

Kalasin narrowed her eyes. The expression reminded him of a cat stalking her prey. "You were under no impression, Mr. Masbolle. You snooped around in that little computer of yours."

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "It's my job."

She gave him a scathing look. "That it is."

_As if it were enough reason to maim me…_Dom frowned. He'd been at the party for an hour and this was the most interesting thing to happen to him—getting glared at by the redhead's Ice Queen of a girlfriend. "Hmm. Are we actually having a semi-civil conversation here? Clarify for me."

"It depends on what you call civil," she replied, deliberately slow and insulting, as if talking to a child.

The Rider was pleased with himself anyway. She hadn't threatened to injure him yet. That was much farther than many men had gotten with her. Of course, he had no reason to care.  It wouldn't mitigate his bachelor status by putting the moves of every woman whose boyfriend was absent. He simply wasn't that kind of man. He let his eyes rove over her body when she wasn't looking. _Though I'm very tempted…_

He set down his cup on the table in front of them. In the meantime, they had taken seats on the couch, relaxing their feet. Dom rubbed his hands together and offered a placating smile to Kalasin. 

"May I ask you a personal question?"

It was her turn to shrug. "Why not? You'd probably find out the answer on your own sooner or later."

He recognized the insult, but decided it was in his best interests (his health, primarily) to let it slide. His fingers restlessly smoothed down the thighs of his trousers. "I always wondered…" he began hesitantly. How should he phrase it? "I always wondered why you liked Cleon. How do you two hit it off so well when you're so different?"

"I had no idea by personal you meant that. I was expecting 'is that your real hair color' or something similar along those lines," she admitted. Kalasin made a move to straighten her back, though her posture was already perfect. "All right. You really want to know?"

Did he?

"Yes, of course I do. Cleon is a good friend of mine."

Her expression communicated insult, for which he immediately winced and leaned away. "Cleon is a good man. He brings a lot of hope to me. Not many people do that so freely anymore."

"I don't understand," he shook his head. "Hope? Hope for what?"

She lifted her shoulders once again the universal shrug. "Hope for many things. He leads me to believe that what we're working toward… peace and order… isn't just a dream. His happiness and his optimism give me reason to trust that one day things will be close to paradise."

As Kalasin spoke, Dom attempted to recall himself feeling _that_ optimistic. To his dismay, he did not find a single time in his life when he had been. There had always been the nagging doubt that the work he did, his civilian services to the country, would not amount to anything at all. The law was broken every day. Evildoers escaped justice every single day. The Riders' Own couldn't stop them all.

Cleon did live like there was always hope. He was the embodiment of all those wishful things. Dom was actually quite jealous. The only way he could ever be as happy was if he took medical supplements meant for depression patients.

"So. That's why you like him," he murmured, taking a long sip of his drink.

She nodded and took a small sip from her own cup. "Yes. That… and he's really an animal under the covers."

Dom promptly spat out his drink in a long arc through the air, the liquid eventually landing all over Numair and Daine. The room became silent. Dom wiped at his mouth with his sleeve, wide-eyed like a fish as he tried to remind himself to breathe.

Lalasa approached. She had a false grin on her face, her eye twitching. 

~~

Keladry opened her eyes slowly. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. The sun wasn't even up at this hour. She sat up and got out of the bed. Cleon, Faleron, and she were staying at a mountainside inn. Many of the windows had been boarded up because of frequent snowstorms that had been roaming the area.

She worried about Joren, Neal, and the others out in that harsh weather. Several times, she had tried to contact them. Each day that passed was like an icy dagger driven through her heart by Mother Nature herself, the cruel mistress that She was. Keladry found it hard to endure, but she forced herself to, for her friends' sake.

Since Daine was sponsoring the entire trip, Keladry even had more resources to pool from than Joren and Neal. Yet they had been unwilling to find any professional mountain climbers willing to assist them. In the end, they had to hire natives from the villages and trading posts that they arrived at to help them. The natives only took them as far as the next location. They'd had to hire new people every place they went. 

Faleron had been able to persuade one man at the very inn that they were staying at to guide them up the mountain pass to the trading post. Keladry had been hoping for more porters. Otherwise, she and Cleon would have to carry the brunt of the load.

Keladry had a slight headache, she realized as she stumbled around the tiny room. Their guide had warned them that higher altitude might have an effect on their body's usual threshold for outside pressure. She massaged her temples and wondered if chewing gum would help, as it did on airplanes.

It was all she could do to keep her mind of the more obvious pain.

There was a knocking sound at her door. She reached for her parka and put it on. Then the female DJPF officer slipped her feet into a pair of shoes and went to open the door. Her eyebrows arched in mild surprise, arousing her from her sleepiness. "Cleon? Something wrong?"

The sharpshooter reluctantly stepped inside, bowing his head to avoid hitting the rafters. His hand clumsily reached out to close the door behind him. The expression on his face was beyond crestfallen.

"Cleon?"

"I got a page just now."

_Whoever could have paged him at this time?_ Keladry wondered. She then remembered that it wasn't nearly an ungodly hour at night than it was on the other side of the world. If it were anyone paging from Mithros, it would be just at ten or eleven o'clock. Perhaps Daine had meant to check on them. She was the one paying, after all.

Keladry nodded for him to continue. It had to be important in order for him to get out of bed two hours before dawn. He must have been freezing. Still, he had rushed to her room wearing a few hastily thrown on sweaters over his pajamas. Though the inn they stayed at was heated, it was not nearly enough for them to walk around in only a layer or two of clothing.

"Just tell me who paged you," Keladry urged. She could tell he was nervous by the way he shifted from foot to foot. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. His green eyes darted around the dimly lit room. Cleon walked over to her nightstand and lit a small stubby white candle. He cupped his hands gently around the flame for warmth. "Um, I got a page from Neal."

Her heart skipped a beat. She put a hand on his trembling shoulder. Excitement took over her. She couldn't even see through the smoky haze it created and grinned from ear to ear. Cleon remained reserved in expression.

"Really? Cleon, do you know what that means?"

"I know what it would first imply."

She shook her head. "What are you talking about? Come on, tell me what Neal and Joren said."

"They didn't say anything, Keladry. That's the problem," he whispered. "I got what was supposed to be some message, except it was garbled like the source suffered a shock during transmission." He showed her his pager, tapping the tiny screen. "I checked the number. It was Neal. But that's it. We don't know what he wanted to say. We don't know where they are. We don't even know how they're doing."

Keladry lowered her head so that her chin nearly touched her chest. Sensing her grip tighten on his shoulder, Cleon slowly put his arms around her and lightly squeezed.

"It doesn't mean anything. Dude, I bet they're taking the time to snowboard on some fresh powder on those huge mountains. Knowing Neal, I wouldn't put it past him for thinking of it." He rested his chin softly on top of her head. "It doesn't mean _anything_."

She let out a shuddering breath. "That's what scares me."

Cleon let go and held her away at arms length. The twinkle in his eye let her know that he had faith… faith in something that she couldn't conceive of understanding.

"Kel, I'll make the same promise to you that I did to Kally and Fal." He smiled broadly. "Everything will turn out the way it's supposed to. Even if it hurts now, it won't always be that way and you won't always feel like boulders are weighing your shoulders down. I promise."

It was a simple thing. Just a series of words that weren't solid objects. It wasn't a contract, or a car deal. It wasn't even something that she could see or imagine in her mind's eye. They were just words, yet Keladry believed every single one.

"Why are you such a good friend?" she asked, slightly mollified from any outbursts she could have had.

He laughed. "I don't know. I especially don't know why that is with you. Sometimes I feel like we were really close in some other universe, you know? And sometimes I feel like I never knew Kally or Fal at all." His hands dropped to his side. "I don't know anything. This is just what I am and that's what you just are."

Another knocking sound interrupted the quietness. The door creaked open to reveal Faleron, jackets and blankets thrown over his body. It made him appear like a beggar wanting spare change. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "What's going on? I woke up and the other bed was empty. I was afraid you two had left me behind to do your own search."

"Now why would we do that, dude?"

"I don't know. So I wouldn't slow you down, I suppose."

"Well, we're here and we're not leaving until it's light," Keladry assured. "We just got a page from Neal and Joren. At least we have something to go on."

They didn't say much after that. Faleron climbed into Keladry's bed, kicking off his shoes. He muttered grumpily and fell back to sleep. His companions smiled at him, sat down on the bed, and also settled in for a nice long nap. For a few minutes, the remained awake. Each was thinking of a person out of their grasp. It would have been good to feel those people's comfort. But in the end, they, too, succumbed to the cold sleep. They couldn't do anything else.

~~

Lalasa had given Dom an earful, feeling absolutely humiliated by the incident and wanting Dom to feel the same way. She would have thrown him out if Kalasin hadn't come forward about causing Dom to spit out his drink. Even Numair let it go easily—mostly because Daine had offered to escort him to his hotel for a shirt change.

The party was over now and she was wiping down tables and counters. Roald was taking out the trash to the dumpster out back_. Alone at las_t, she thought. This was the night that she had planned to tell him and she needed all the time that she could get to prepare herself. There was no reason to be nervous.  Roald loved her and she loved him.

She was washing her hands when came in. Lalasa quickly turned off the faucet and reached for a dishtowel. While rigorously drying her hands, she approached him and flashed a brief smile. "Can I talk to you for a second, babe?"

Roald appeared confused. "Um, sure. What's up?"

The dishtowel was dropped on the floor and forgotten. She advanced closer to him. Lalasa gently pushed him until he ran into the armchair. The touch behind his knees caused him to fall backward and sit down. She seated herself calmly on his lap. Her hands automatically began smoothing back his silky black hair.

"Sweetheart?" he said questioningly. His sapphire eyes were tinged with worry.

She continued to smile at him. Her apprehension was so obvious that he was not just, but scared for her.

"Roald, remember at the beginning of the week when you started escorting the Councilman around town?"

A cold feeling manifested at the bottom of his belly. What was she talking about? Was his wife—his dearest treasure—in trouble?

"Yes, I remember," he answered, low in voice.

"Well, I went to the doctor that day."

He breathed in sharply. "Are you okay? What did the doctor say? Lalasa?"

She put a finger to his lips. "I honestly don't know how I knew. I just had a feeling and I checked it out. Roald, sweetie, I'm pregnant."

He emitted an instant cry both of relief and of joy. Before she knew what was happening, her husband rained down dozens of kisses upon her tanned face. He was laughing in delight, yelling "Wonderful! That's wonderful!" as he lifted her up in his arms.

They began a hysterical dance around their living room. Their spirits were light and airy, unable to be brought down by any sort of trouble. Roald tripped over his own feet, laughing even harder as his wife now led them in their private waltz. Warmth pervaded their bodies. It was a familiar sensation, the same that had filled them the day of their wedding.

So Roald and Lalasa had made vows to each other, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, as long as they both would live. The same vow that Cleon had made to his friends… the same vow that Keladry had made to Joren…

…And the same vow that Joren had yet to learn the meaning of, though he ardently whispered it in his fevered dreams.

~~

Author's note:

Yay! Another episode up and done. Hopefully, I'll get a lot done this summer, even if it means shorter chapters. All my original plans for every episode plot will continue to be fulfilled. It's just a matter of condensing so that the quality is at its purest.

I know, I know. Everyone's itching to see Joren again. Well, guess what! It's a Neal-Joren-Imrah episode coming up to you next! What, do you think I would have really done something bad to them? Scared you with that pager thing, didn't I? 

Comments, etc. welcome. The email address is at top. Thanks for reading!

P.S.

The song from Roald's reminiscing is Semisonic's Closing Time. I would have liked to vote this for my graduation song, but it mentioned whisky and beer. The school didn't like it. Oh well. I'm sure they'll play Greenday's Time of Your Life, instead. Not that I mind. It's a wonderful song from a wonderful band, but it's been overdone for graduation ceremonies in my area…


	8. Pure

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 8: Pure           **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…)! **E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… R… mostly for Joren and Neal's potty mouths. They're basically at each other's throats. They're both so grumpy by this time that neither of them is holding back with the profanity.

~~

The air was still, as if each molecule Neal breathed was actually a tiny fragment of ice. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to doze off. The figure in the sleeping bag probably wouldn't move anytime soon. Light peaked out from the slit of the tent flap. He had forgotten to zip it up all the way, but since the heat sentries were still in place, there was no immediate need to do so. 

It had been two full days since the "wolf" attack. Neal had heard that such creatures roamed the colder regions of the earth, but he had never really expected to meet one, let alone a dozen. If it hadn't been for Shinkokami, he might have been mauled to death.

Not exactly one of the nicer ways to go.

Everyone in the camp had sustained only minor injuries. Neal and Joren had been the worst off. Unlike Neal, however, Joren's body seemed to be healing itself at a far accelerated rate than his partner's. By the time Joren would awake, there would be perhaps only faint traces of bruising. Neal was not nearly so lucky. 

He couldn't understand how Joren had come to possess such resilience. But then again, there wasn't much about Joren that he understood anyway. He had grown very used to seeing mysteries appear right before his eyes, related to this impassive towheaded man. Nothing could spook him now.

He assured the crew and the guide, Imrah, that there was no need to turn back. They restlessly waited for Joren to awake. And luckily, that morning, as Neal was keeping watch over his partner, Joren opened his eyes.

The pupils surrounded by pale blue shrank in response to the light filtering through the tent material. He screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away. One hand stiffly pressed itself against the sleeping bag, pushing Joren up into a sitting position. The other hand swiftly flew to his head, touching the new white bandage wound around his "bump".

Despite having gained full consciousness in a matter of seconds, he looked down at his body straight away as if he couldn't differentiate the blur of colors in his vision. He kicked furiously at the sleeping bag, trying to free his legs. His face lifted again so that he faced Neal with a menacing expression. "Why are my feet and knees wet?"

Neal lifted his head warily and yawned. The early morning sun was also too bright for his eyes. He rubbed his eyelids and pointed to the tent opening. "You woke up not too long ago and crawled your way just outside the tent. We don't know why, but you certainly scared the crap out of us."

The events of earlier came rushing back to Joren. He had been quite feverish then. Luckily they had dragged him back inside the tent or else he would have caught pneumonia lying there in the snow with very few layers on. Joren grimaced and straightened his back. His strength also flowed back into his body. He pulled his legs toward his body and folded them semi-lotus style, his hands resting on his knees. 

"Did I…" he began, fully knowing what he had done, yet uncertain of what they knew. "Did I say anything?"

Neal displayed the same pained impression that Joren did. He wasn't sure if he wanted to let Joren know how insane the blonde had appeared. "Well, yeah. You did say _something_." He coughed. "But we didn't understand it. You yelled it so… loudly that we couldn't make heads or tails of it."

A lie. Joren might have yelled so vociferously that Neal's ears had rung with the sound of it, but the older man knew exactly what Joren had screamed for… or should he say _whom_? It stumped him. Why Keladry? Had the former operative dreamt of her? If he had, the dream must have really been a nightmare. There was no explanation for the anguish he had heard in Joren's voice early that morning.

Neal drew his knees toward his chest to allow Joren more room to move. "We've lost two days. Luckily, we're near to where we think the plane went down. How soon can you be up and about?"

Though his father was Dr. Baird, he didn't want to make assumptions about the stamina of other people—especially cases such as Joren. Neal suspected that the search party could continue right away, but he didn't want to believe it. Joren's health was too perplexing.

"I'm ready right now. Just give me a second to dress and pack. We can make the crash site in a couple of days," Joren said, his voice indicating that he was back in professional mode. He began going through his discarded pack bag for more layers of thermal designed clothing.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Joren shot another glare at him. He yanked a tight fitting black turtleneck over his head and wrestled to adjust it over his body. "Yes, I'm fine." He reached for a pair of suitable waterproof gloves. "Get the rest of the camp packed. We'll leave in fifteen minutes."

_Of course,_ Neal thought sarcastically. _I'm an idiot for thinking that he of all people would take it easy._ He rolled his eyes. There was no use fighting what Joren wanted to do. It simply wasn't done, especially not by Neal. As much as he wanted to go against his partner's decisions, he continued to think of Keladry and her brothers.

"They deserve a proper burial… there's so much love in their family. They deserve it," he muttered as he exited the tent in a low crouch. 

Pretending not to have heard, Joren touched the bandage around his head. It was stiff and new. They had probably replaced it early that morning when he had stumbled out of his tent. He began unwinding it from his head, tugging at it impatiently. When it lay in a heap in his lap, the former operative gingerly touched the spot on his crown that seemed most tender. There was not even a bump, just a slight ghost of pain.

He thought of his last visit to a hospital and shuddered. It would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days. Death wanted Joren so badly, but at the rate of his healing, it seemed as if he would never meet his Grim Reaper. 

Speaking of depressing things, why did he have such a dream? Why were both Keladry _and_ his son in it? It made no sense. He almost hated himself at that moment.

"When _don't_ I hate myself?" he said morbidly. He smiled bitterly.

When he was fully dressed and packed, Neal unzipped the flap of the tent and stuck his head through. "We're ready and waiting. Imrah says it should only be a day if we get a good pace. Think you're up to it?"

"Of course I am. Don't ask such a stupid question," Joren barked. He hefted his pack onto his shoulders and followed the older man out of the tent. The sudden exposure to the cold air sent the smallest of shivers up his spine, but he betrayed no emotion on his face to what he was feeling. "I have to collapse the tent. After that, we need to talk."

Neal nodded. He had expected as much. The other porters and Imrah were waiting around patiently, perched on rocks and their packs as if they were watching a show. He tipped over his pack on the ground and also sat on it, exhaling deeply.

When Joren was done, he faced Neal and beckoned him to get up and approach.

"What? Need help carrying the tent kit?"

The blond biker scrutinized Neal's physical appearance from head to toe. "Are you injured?"

Neal was taken aback. He floundered for words. "Uh, no!" Was Joren truly concerned? "Just a few minor scrapes and bruises. Nothing that I can't shake off."

Perhaps the blow to the head had jogged something nice in Joren's head. Perhaps from now on, his partner would be a more considerate person. The millions of possibilities made their way through Neal's mind. He had a hard time believing it, but the expression on Joren's face actually looked sincere. 

_And to think, I thought he would be mad for tackling him and nearly killing him…_

"What about your face? Does that hurt?" Joren asked.

Neal frowned slightly. "Um, no. Perfectly fine."

"Good."

And with that, Joren drew back his arm and exploded forward, punching Neal soundly across the cheekbone so much that the struck man was propelled backwards. He landed on his butt in the snow, head reeling. He pressed a gloved hand to his cheek and winced in obvious pain.

He moaned. His eyes fluttered as he looked up at Joren's sneering face. "Damn my gullibility. I should have seen _that_ one coming."

"You deserved it," Joren spat. Despite the frightened faces of the rest of their search party, Joren leaned over and pulled Neal up by the neck of his parka. He growled threateningly. "If you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again, I will personally see to it that one more casualty is added to the crash list!"

Neal nodded. He swallowed hard. "Totally understood." When Joren let go, he stood up again and brushed himself off. "I have to explain the full story though. Stone, didn't you see that girl? She was dressed in furs, but I'm sure you knew that she was human! Don't you understand? I couldn't let you kill—"

"Oh, I understand," Joren snapped, cutting him off. "I understand that you've been thinking with your crotch rather than your brain. I suppose there's only enough blood in your body to operate one at a time."

Neal bristled. "Now that's not fair! It wasn't like that!"

"I don't care. Just make sure you put this team first, not her," Joren warned. "We're on a mission or haven't you noticed? We have no time for crazy girls running in the wild."

Seeing that Neal was too angry and speechless to continue their argument further, Joren picked up his things and whistled to Imrah. The other men and women quickly got up on their feet and fell into line. Neal cursed fluidly, letting one word follow after another. He grudgingly went to the back of the line, glaring at his partner at the front.

Neal didn't hate discriminately. There were no specific reasons why he loathed Joren. He had repeated to himself many times before that his hate was, indeed, very general. Everything about the bastard pissed Neal off.

Of course, mentally whining about it wouldn't do any good. He fell in sync with the march up the slope, simply glad to be on the move again. The rhythm would take his mind off a lot of things. Right foot forward, left foot forward.  Step over the rock. Don't slide in the snow.

The snow… While waiting for Joren to awake, Neal had observed weather patterns in the mountain range. One of the women he had hired owned a device that was a link to the International Climate and Weather Bureau. She also possessed a knack at navigating around in bad weather. Hopefully, they wouldn't need to put those skills to use. As far as they could tell, the snowstorms blew through the western part of the mountain territory, where they had departed less than a week ago.

The hapless troupe trekked across the massive mountains for two more days—delayed from their initial good pace because Imrah decided such rigorous traveling would wear down the inexperienced DJPF officers. Joren had wanted to press forward even more assiduously, but the rest of the hired hands seemed to agree with the elder guide. He had no choice but to follow the will of the group or lose their respect.

As a child, he had always gazed upon the rock giants from afar and wondered: What would it be like to stand atop of one? How high did it go? Joren had asked his father once, how high was the tallest mountain. And in response, his father had suddenly assumed a misty-eyed look, as if he were seeing some ghost from the past. Then he had told Joren that the highest mountain touched Heaven and that people lived on this mountain. They were angels.

"A mountain… where you could lie down at the summit, look above at the sky, and watch it ripple like the sea," he repeated from memory.

Imrah spared him a glance. The wise man smiled and nodded. "Ah, so you know some old wives' tales, too, eh?"

Joren blinked. He snapped out of his trance and nodded. Somehow, he didn't feel uncomfortable explaining private matters to him. "It was something my father told me.  We lived in Gala."

"Stories like those don't spread that far," he hummed thoughtfully. "Your father must have been in these places once."

"I wouldn't know," Joren confessed, hoping that _that_ particular detail wasn't pressed further.

The guide nodded sagely. "Such is the case for legends that become part of reality once more." He chuckled in earnest. "I'm sure you deeply cared for him. Do you know the story that goes along with your father's description?"

"No," he replied tersely. "And I'm not sure I want to hear it." As astute as Imrah was, Joren did not like showing off all things that were sheltered in his privacy. Memories of his father—dark hair and strong square chin—made him mournful inside. It didn't feel right to bare everything to a stranger, as empathetic as he might be.

Despite Joren's aversion to the story, the elder continued. His hands made small gestures that meant nothing, a twirling of fingers in the air as if he were swirling invisible paints that colored the clouds. The sky had become so clear and pale that it was difficult to see where it ended on the horizon and where the ground began. He pointed distractedly toward it.

"Perhaps it will be better if you listen anyway. You might remember something you never knew."

Joren frowned. "How is that possible?"

"Just listen," the guide hushed. He began swirling one hand in the air again, beckoning the words to rise up out of his chest. "The Yamani people are an older people than many think. Their ancestors were willful. They climbed every mountain they saw as if it were merely a mound one would step over. They did not like the idea of obstacles that they could not pass.

"Once, long ago, a brave man climbed many mountains and crossed this wilderness, until he reached the largest of them all, Enishijirou." Here Imrah paused, as if to give silent reverence to the name. Joren chose to mask his contempt for the name. It was not something he wanted to be reminded of. The guide continued. "The brave man climbed this great mountain. Surely he would have died if the Goddess had not taken pity on him. She had scattered grass sanctuaries across the mountains, where the goats and the rams and the sheep would graze. He would live off these places as She wished. 

"And so She favored him that he might see what no outsider had seen in hundreds of years."

Joren tensed. The thought of gods and favoritism reminded him of Enishi, singling Joren out above all others. Wasn't it enough torture to hear that a mountain bore a similar name? 

"He reached the summit," Imrah exhaled deeply. "This place in the clouds where the mighty lords of the winds could sit themselves down for rest and drink. And in the valley deep, deep below, this brave man favored by the gods gazed upon the most magnificent of cities."

"City? In the mountains?" Joren echoed incredulously.

"Yes! A city made of marble and granite, trimmed in gold and silver, bedecked with every jewel imaginable…" Imrah trailed off.

His listener snorted. "Sounds like Thief Boy's version of heaven."

"It could very well be likened to heaven. They say that this city is inhabited by the reincarnated souls of those once in heaven who wished to see their mortal world again," Imrah explained. "It is heaven on earth. Angels freely walk there."

The image of angels with their large voluminous wings temporarily awed Joren so that he did not speak again in irreverent manners. Imrah smiled when he noticed that his audience had found a moment of peace, the way a proud grandfather enjoys the silence of a house empty of its very successful children.

"Yes, my young friend. Angels. Perhaps they lifted your missing plane to the city of Enishijirou. Maybe they rest right now in Paradise."

The blonde scowled. "Do not repeat such idiocies to me! I know they're dead. I'm here to bring their remains back home for burial. They'd have to be extremely lucky to have their emergency supplies last this long." He clenched his fists. "And you know what? I don't believe in luck anymore."

~~

It was near dusk when Neal suggested that they settle down for the night. Joren demanded that they cross one more ridge before doing so. The sun in the distance melted the sky into a blend of orange, red, and finally purple. It was melted gold, a stretched blanket over their heads. Neal consoled himself by thinking of how much better the view of the sunset would be a little further up. It was all he could do to keep his mind off his hatred for Joren and a certain mysterious "wild girl".

Neal didn't understand why he was so obsessed with her. Perhaps it was a silly infatuation, a schoolboy's crush. It had to have been! Simply because he had never met anyone quite like her before, he had become completely fixated on a girl he hardly knew.

"She saved my life. That's enough for any man like me to get on his knees and beg like a puppy."

The man walking in front of him glanced over his shoulder uneasily. It was the same porter who had played hackie sack with him. "Mithran courting rituals are strange…"

Neal blushed beet red and spoke very little after that. They continued on their way over the ridge. Their path became steeper. Many were forced to lean forward a bit and seek handholds and footholds in the rock to continue forward. 

At the front of the group, Joren had become so preoccupied with memories of his father and speculations on the legend of Enishijirou that he nearly tripped over a rock at the very top of the ridge. He checked his balance without anyone else noticing his blunder. Imrah tapped his shoulder.

"What is it?" he grumbled, shaking snow from the top of his boot.

"Look."

Joren did as he was ordered and gasped. Forgetting that he was still angry with Neal—as people are apt to be when nearly falling to their deaths—he shouted down to his partner. The older officer groaned, not understanding a thing the blonde was saying.

"Quiet, Stone!" he hissed loudly, obviously having not forgotten _his_ annoyance. "Do you want to cause an avalanche?"

A raised middle finger was his immediate answer.

"Just get your pansy ass up here, NEALAN!" Joren ground out the last word mockingly. He impatiently beckoned for him to pass the others. Neal muttered a curse to himself. He blurted out pardons as he made his way up to the spot. The other men and women gave him a helping hand on his way up. 

When he was finally pushed forward to the top, he took a deep breath and held his arms out in a show of bravado. "Okay, okay. Pansy ass is here! Now what's so impor—" His mouth dropped open. He whistled. "Well… fuck me…"

"I'd rather not," Joren replied derisively, though his voice still maintained the same tone of shock that his partner had. He pointed ahead of them. " 'Thar she blows', Queenscove. Let's check it out."

The plane, a light plane initially meant for short distance transport, was lying on its belly on the ridge, half covered by ice. This side had a more gradual decline, until it dropped into a something resembling a small trench and a dozen different rocky paths to choose from. The plane itself was scraped all along its sides, one wing only half there while the other's aileron was dangling by its end. The landing gear had broken off in pieces as the plane had slid ungracefully to a stop. The hatch door was even wide open, yet barely connected.

Joren could see no sign of life. But he couldn't see a sign of death either. The two DJPF officers cautiously approached, as if facing a dangerous animal baring its razor sharp teeth. Imrah and the others stood their distance, politely, knowing that these were matters not to be touched by their hands.

The two men carefully walked a full circle around the plane. They jogged quickly across on the more downward side. It wouldn't surprise them if the plane continued to slide down the ridge into the trench below. And they certainly didn't feel like being crushed to death.

"The main cabin is intact. A few windows are cracked, but it's mostly okay," Neal observed. He followed Joren who was inspecting the open door to the plane and carefully peering inside. "Anything in there?"

Joren's brow creased. "Nothing. No bodies, no equipment… nothing. The only things inside are the seats and the snow."

Neal gulped. "Do you think they're alive?"

Both men drew their heads out of the opening and took a survey of the surrounding land. It was obvious to the both of them that there was no place to go. And even if the missing men had their supplies and their heating equipment, how long would those things have lasted out in the wilderness?

"Okay," Joren said loudly. "We camp here, on the higher side of the plane. In the morning, the supplies will be split so that everyone but Imrah, Queenscove, and me have spared as much as possible. You others will make the trip back to the village and restock there. You've been paid already. Just go home." He took a deep breath. "The rest of us will take up the spared supplies and packs and continue by ourselves."

The headman of the crew balked. "Sir, I don't think that it is wise to continue any further."

"Hey, you heard the man!" Neal said. He glanced at Joren, surprised at his own willingness to stick with the foolish idea. "Imrah will guide us. We'll be fine. We have a radio to contact the trading post in case something happens."

The headmen shook his head. He reluctantly gave orders to the rest of the crew to pitch their tents and make camp. The heat sentries were set around the perimeter of the camp and a small fire built at the center.

The sunset came and went more quickly than Neal anticipated. He missed it. Though slightly disappointed, he reasoned it was just as good that they'd found the plane. He felt more at ease now than he had been in days, despite the fact that the _real_ journey had just begun.

While rations and water were being handed out, Neal worked up the courage to approach Joren for a request. The other man was sitting with his elbows propped up on his knees. He'd found a small piece of the plane's wheel big enough for him to sit on and had used it to his advantage. Neal just let himself crouch.

"What is it?" Joren asked impassively, staring at a point above the flames.

Neal shrugged. "I thought it might be a good idea to contact the others and tell them how our search is going. We haven't communicated with them in a while, like we should have."

"Go ahead, then," he replied, barely concerned. If Neal had asked him if it was okay to do a crazy naked dance around the fire, Joren probably wouldn't have noticed and still given his consent. Wondering if this was true, Neal spoke it aloud.

"Whatever. Fine with me."

Sighing, Neal stood up and began to create a message on his pager. It was brief, stating that they were fine and had found an empty plane. He sent the message, hoping that it would reach Cleon, who he knew always checked his pager. Keladry still had the aggravating habit of not noticing her pager's signals or beeps right away.

He was suddenly surprised to see random characters and garbled text appear on the tiny screen on his wrist pager. He tried to clear it, but the pager continued to scroll strange symbols across the little screen. Then the pager began to emit a series of beeps with no specific pattern.

"What the… Argh! Cheap little piece of crap!" he exclaimed. 

Joren stood up. "What is it?"

"My pager is going on the fritz!"

"Just like you to break your toys," the blond biker growled. He examined the state of Neal's pager and frowned. He pulled back his sleeve to study his own pager. His eyebrows arched slightly in mild surprise. "Mine's doing it, too."

The headman overheard them. He quickly ordered the others to check their electronic equipment, especially the radio. Anxious replies from all the tents revealed that their communication equipment was also showing the same malfunctions. 

Imrah approached the two officers. "I think perhaps that we should turn back."

Joren gritted his teeth. "No way. This is just some… some influx of the magnetic field around us. That's all. We three will continue in the morning. The heat sentries still work and we still now how to find our way back with that map you've been making."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Old man, stop questioning me!" Joren warned. He huffed angrily, turned heel, and marched into his tent. Neal sighed. He offered an apologetic smile to the guide, muttered something about womanly mood swings, and also entered his tent.

Inside his tent, Joren laid himself down on his sleeping bag. He was slightly hungry, but did not want to exit his tent to get the rations. He took a sip of water from his own canteen and spread himself out flat on the bottom of the tent. He closed his eyes and quelled his bad mood by thinking of more positive, comforting things.

He secretly wished Keladry were there with him. She would have been the one to bravely say that their search was over and beg Joren to come home. She would have chosen his safety over the discovery of her brothers. 

He did miss her. Joren couldn't lie to himself about that anymore. If his dream was any indication, he was going quite crazy without her. He would have paid a hundred Nobles to feel her hands glide over the plane of his stomach or massage his tense shoulders. It didn't matter what kind of man you were. _Every_ man enjoyed that sort of attention.

Even just feeling the press of her soft lips against his, just once, would be enough to satiate him at this point. Her smile, her face, her breathy voice whispering in his ear… Joren groaned and turned onto his stomach, his cheek pressed against the sleeping bag. He opened his eyes and glared at the side of his tent.

"Geh. No use getting all hot and bothered when the closest DJPF officer isn't her but Queenscove." He shuddered. His mind recalled having thoughtlessly approved of Neal performing a naked ballet around the campfire.

Joren turned his face downward and groaned again. _If I ever need to vomit, I know exactly what to think of._

Deciding to take a quick nap, he was very disgusted at himself to discover that he dreamt of every DJPF officer he had ever met, Keladry excluded, dancing around a fire with tutus on… shaking their butts rather gratuitously in his face.

_Kill me now._

~~

 Author's note: Yay! Joren and Neal back again! I felt so much better writing about them again. I suppose my mind is just more compatible to writing their personalities. Will those two _ever_ get along? If they did, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun!

I don't really have any announcements at the moment. The next episode is going to feature a funny episode for all you Cleon and Faleron fans. Keladry get to discard her sad mood for a few hours, too!

See ya next time!


	9. Misunderstanding

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 9: Misunderstanding   **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13… Though it gets very embarrassing toward the end. Innuendoes and the sort. It's a Cleon and Faleron episode! It _has_ to get weird!

~~

Keladry pretended that she didn't know the two men walking behind her. Their loud arguing was not only embarrassing, but also pointless. At times, they often forgot why they were disagreeing in the first place. She had to remind them more than once about the reason that the three of them were in the mountain territory. There were obviously other things on their minds.

The trading post that they were at was the eastern-most on their map. From a bird's eye view, the post (settlement, really) was horseshoe shaped. The only opening was from the western side, facing civilization. From the heavy wooden and metal gate, a number of huts and cabins had been built to house natives, merchants, soldiers, and anyone else who might have traveled thus far. The trading post itself, a log built cabin of many branches and levels, was at the curve of the U-shape. Metals imported from across the seas, and rooted deep in the ground, supported the trading post's single radio tower. 

The sound of the frosty winds blowing through the settlement drowned out the sound of men trying to find shelter for the night or buyer's for their wares. Many Eastern Yamani natives had traveled from all different directions to find the best prices for furs, food, and other necessities that could be found within the settlement's walls. Mountain sheep and goats were even kept in the same stables as the mules and packhorses that slumbered there. The larger creatures would not work until spring, when the snow had melted a bit and their hooves could tread safely on the hard earth. 

The bleating of the mountain sheep barely reached Keladry's ears as she and her two companions entered a large, two-storied inn that was also built of logs and who knew what else. They hadn't seen many trees this far into the region, so perhaps those materials had been imported as well. 

She made a mental note to check their supplies and their equipment. Unlike Joren and Neal, they did not need a whole team of porters and guides because their mission was not to rescue a plane full of people, but the rescuers themselves.

Instead, Keladry insisted on having no hired hands. She had read up diligently on climbing and hiking. She had even bribed travelers that her party had encountered to tell her about conditions of the area and essential tips for survival. She had heard that the trading master was a former Mithran eager to help his fellow patriots.  At least it would make her job relatively easier.

The three companions made their way through a small room full of people, similar to a saloon. Men and women (predominantly men) were seated at round wooden tables, drinking warm beverages, mostly either including alcohol or caffeine. They dressed in furs, skins, and modern styled parkas and long coats that provided as much warmth as possible, though the newcomers could feel the warm presence of a heating system within the inn.

The First Class female officer, remaining brave and unaffected by the room of strangers, led her friends to the bar. She fanned the smoke of cigars away from her face and knocked on the bar top. "Excuse me," she called to a darkly skinned man wearing a bartender's apron. "We'd like a room, please."

The man spat into a tin cup placed on the floor behind the bar. He squinted at her, all the while polishing and re-polishing the same mug over and over. "Money up front." He listed his price. Keladry, still wrinkling her nose from both disapproval of the price and disapproval of the smell of the place handed the money to him. The man nodded. "Good. Mifa will show you to your room."

A girl waiting on tables, upon hearing her name, approached. Being accustomed to the same duties day-in, day-out, she immediately motioned for them to follow her up a set of wooden stairs that lined the northern side of the saloon. Below the stairs was a darkened hallway, leading to rooms rented mostly by drunkards who didn't feel like stumbling up stairs. The rooms on the second floor were given to more responsible and sober guests, as Mifa observed that they were.

Faleron glanced over the railing, down at the hubbub below. He lengthened his stride so that he caught up with Keladry and kept pace with her. 

"Kel, I was wondering what exactly we're planning to _do_ here."

"I'm going to find this Mithran trade master, like I said I would. We don't need that many people to help us. Just a lot of good tips and one hell of a map."

"Yes," Faleron began, "but we have more money than the search party. Surely it wouldn't be too much trouble if we—"

Cleon broke in, rolling his eyes. "What he means to say is that he doesn't want to do all the _sodding_ work himself."

The former King of Thieves became visibly irritated at the reference to the cultural and verbal influence of his prep school origins. "You have a terrible accent, my good man."

The redhead blinked. "Bloody hell! Great Scot! Do I?"

Faleron muttered something unrecognizable. Keladry could barely pick up one or two words, such as "incorrigible" and "wanker", though they couldn't have been as worse as the things she didn't hear. Of course, the accent and lingual quirks that Faleron had picked up from boarding school in Port Legann had diminished when he joined the Street Pirates, and had lessened even further in Tusaine. Keladry wondered whether the two men were having their usual type of squabble or if Cleon had truly meant to offend him.

Before she could ask Cleon to keep his comments to himself for the rest of the day, Mifa had led them inside a room with a small bed and two cots. Keladry was distressed that it was roughly the size of Commissioner Wyldon's office back at Headquarters. Mifa also pointed out a small table and a mechanized heat sentry built into the wall by the beds. Apparently, the local consensus was that if it had a roof, four walls, and a heat source, it was living luxuriously.

Keladry thanked Mifa. The woman left without as much as a bow of respect. Keladry didn't expect it. She set her belongings down on the bed. Trying to loosen her aching muscles, she moved her head from side to side and stretched her arms behind he back.

"I thought I was going to get the bed," Faleron said. "You two are supposed to be the bodyguards, after all."

She turned and glared at him, warning him that this was neither the time nor the place. He backed off, sighing, and laid his things below the nearest cot. Then, he sat on it, testing the cot's durability. The cloth was coarse and rough to sensitive skin, which Faleron unfortunately had. He grimaced and withheld his dissatisfied comments to himself.

"I'm going to see his man Higgins. I hear he's reliable for information, although somewhat of a pervert," she mentioned with a hint of regret.

"Oh, a relative of yours, Kennan?" Faleron chirped in a gloating voice.

The redhead promptly stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes at him.

"Anyway, you two make yourselves comfortable here. It would be a good idea to mingle with the crowd in the saloon and see what you can learn. I'm going to the trading post." And with that, she did a final check on her appearance. Habit caused her to strive towards impeccable cleanliness. 

Faleron, now lying on his cot with his hands behind his head, whistled loudly. "You look positively keen, Officer."

"What he means," Cleon clarified while giggling as he often did, "is that you look very professional. I think. Wait, does keen mean sluttish?" 

She glared at both of them. This time, they were working together to make a fool out of her. It might not have appeared so, but they disguised their act well. Faleron set up the pins while Cleon bowled them over, as was the case.

"I'll be back. Don't cause any trouble," she warned. Keladry knew that it probably wouldn't help anything, but at least it washed her hands of all fault. She whisked out the door and down the hall, not giving the two men another thought. Joren and Neal needed her now.

~~ 

Back in the room, Faleron suddenly sat up, ignoring the blood rushing to his head. He sprang up from the cot, an ecstatic expression on his face. Cleon observed him warily. He folded his arms. 

"Now, what is it? You look crazy."

"I prefer whimsical," Faleron intoned, chuckling to himself. He bent over to go through his own things, heaviest of all their bags. His quick slender hands sorted through the contents while he whistled his delight.

Cleon, pondering the masculinity of the word 'whimsical', leaned down from where he sat on his own cot to observe the commotion. "What's in your head, short man?"

Faleron lifted himself up, brandishing a deck of cards in his hand as if it were a gladiator's sword. He grinned. "She said to mingle, didn't she? Nothing breaks the ice as well as poker."

"You mean nothing breaks the ice as well as acquiring three other men's money."

"You think? Good! Let's go down."

The sharpshooter groaned. "I wasn't agreeing! I was being sarcastic!"

Faleron was already at the door of their room, removing the key that was left in the lock by Mifa. He dropped it into one of his zippered pockets and feigned a look of innocence. "I have no idea what sarcasm is."

"Yes, you do! Fal! Stop!"

He chased after the other man as they went down the hall. Faleron was keeping a fast pace for someone of his size. He ducked around a turn while he could hear his friend clumsily skidding and colliding with a wall. When he reached the balcony of the stairs, he whooped. "Oh, come on! You're supposed to be my bodyguard! I'll need your services just in case these men are sore losers."

"You want to see a sore loser? I'll _show_ you a sore loser!" Cleon yelled.

~~

Keladry presented herself to the guards standing outside the trading post. She didn't resemble any of the normal merchants or traders, so the guards there stopped her and began interrogating her. They asked to see identification and papers that allowed her to be traveling in the Yamanis. Hopefully, the recommendation from Daine would also help.

One of the men shifted his bayonet (_Bayonet? _Keladry wondered._ An actual bayonet?_) on his shoulders and conferred with his comrade over the legitimacy of the documents. While they pored over the papers, small flurries of snow began to fall. Keladry was glad that the documents were printed on plastic. Regular paper would have been soaked and ruined by the weather.

"Can I see him or not?" she asked impatiently. Usually, she was good at waiting, but the weather was even colder than she was used to. Irontown was cold, but not this cold.

"I suppose. I take you in," the taller, thinner guard said in an accented voice. Keladry frowned. She recognized it from the way Qasim sometimes spoke.

"You're Bazhir? What's a desert man like you doing in the Yamani Mountains?" she gasped. 

The men before her both wore shaded goggles and masks over the lower halves of their faces. They turned to each other as if to discuss an appropriate answer. The taller guard shrugged. "I am here. That is all. You want see him or not?"

"Yes, yes, please. Lead me in," she acquiesced. She'd seen stranger things. Keladry highly doubted that some conspiracy was present in this part of the world as well. She'd had enough of those to last her a lifetime.

She trudged after the guard, who had to speak with another man in front of the door. They entered after the thick wooden door swung open with no one behind it. Keladry glanced at the doorman. A remote was in his hand. 

_Strange,_ she thought. As they entered the antechamber, Keladry respectfully removed her hat like the guard did. He gestured for her to take seat. Two long wooden tables were set up to the right side of the door, with wooden and metal stools set up all around. Customs officers, she identified by their badges, were seated at a small desk in the corner, going through documents and inspecting smaller wares that had been confiscated.

The guard left the room through a dark doorway in the opposite corner from the tables. Keladry surmised that he was just as annoyed by her presence, as he was gratified for a reason to be indoors.

Before long, she heard a loud guffawing coming from the where the guard had gone. She stood up, hat clutched tightly in both hands. She had the strongest urge to salute as the large trade master entered, and actually did so without thinking.

Pleasantly surprised, Samuel Higgins did the same. He laughed again, and Keladry discovered that he was the source of the raucous noise she had heard earlier. The trade master bowed as well and motioned for her to sit. The guard moved quickly behind Higgins, bringing forth a sturdier seat from the customs desk to support the robust man's weight.

"So, you must be the First Class girl I've been hearing about," Higgins said, stroking his unshaven chin. His cheeks were ruddy and blotched. "I'm from the army, myself, but you must be some real kind of professional to rise that far in rank."

Keladry inclined her head to him. "You can give me that sort of praise when I reach AA status, sir."

"Please! No sir's here. Just Higgins, that's me! I've been working this post for ten years now. Haven't seen an officer as stiff as you since… why, since that blond feller came in! Georgie! When did that blond feller come in?"

A man of Yamani descent, although Keladry could be wrong since she had identified the presence of many nationalities in the settlement, looked up. He shrugged. "A week ago?"

Higgins nodded slowly. "Ah. Guess it wasn't as long ago as I thought." He shrugged apologetically and tapped his skull with his knuckle. "As the years press on, it gets kinda foggy up 'ere."

Keladry perked up at the mention of an uptight "blond feller". She folded her hands in her lap, her fingers squeezing the blood from her hands tightly. "Higgins, uh… sir, was this blonde's name Joren Stone? Did he have a companion with him?"

"Can't remember, actually. I was havin' quite a spell that day! You know, when the fire's warm and the whisky is just right and the innkeeper's daughter is ready and willing, heheh—wait, wait. I'm sure I can remember for ya, Missy." Higgins began stroking his chin again. 

The guard, who hadn't left yet, bowed respectfully to his scatterbrained employer. "There was companion, Mister Hee-gans. You gave them Imrah."

The trade master slapped the table excitedly. "That I did! Good work, man!" He leaned toward Keladry and winked. "Ya see, Missy, if I ain't got the answers, my good men do!" He laughed loudly. "So! What about them is of such an interest to ya? One of them jilt you at the altar?"

Without warning, a blush arose to her cheeks. "No! No, nothing like that!" she protested, although Higgins wasn't too far off. She cleared her throat. "Uh, I'm trying to track them down. I have reason to believe they are in trouble. They were traveling as a search party, as you might remember."

Higgins nodded. 'Yes, yes. I recall somethin' like that."

"I'm need to find them so I can assist them with their search. We lost contact with them a few days ago," she explained. She released her blood-drained hands from their strangle hold on each other and instead gripped the edge of the table. "I'm asking, Higgins, if you know where they went."

"I'm not so sure," Higgins confessed.

The guard cut in once again. "Imrah made routes on paper and leave them behind in his hut. Get them?"

"Yes, please do. Aha! Such helpful workers all around me! Life doesn't get much better than this, Missy." He slapped the table again in enthusiasm. "Say, while we're waiting, can I offer you a drink? Some brandy, maybe? I think I have a bottle of wine 'ere, too. Always prepared for the company of women!"

_I bet._ Keladry smiled nervously.

~~

Faleron dealt his cards deftly, his hands practically a blur of movement over the table. His three acquaintances stared at the younger man's face, suspiciously wondering what semblance of man sat with them. They reluctantly picked up the cards and fingered their coins on the table.

"All right! Shall we begin, gentleman?" 

Across the room, Kennan was seated at the bar, trying to force down some hot stew that Mifa had brought to him. He had no wish to sit by and watch Faleron win—as he always did—then have to protect him against the angry losers. He considered himself only responsible for what he saw, and if he didn't see it, he certainly wasn't responsible.

A twisted way of logic, but one that made the guilt go away.

He was halfway finished with his bowl when he noticed someone sit down beside him. He glanced to the side briefly and returned to his eating. When he realized that this person was continuing to stare at him, he put his spoon down and hesitantly turned his head.

"Yes?"

A Yamani girl, dressed in colorful skirts and shawls, smiled at him. She was perhaps in her mid-teens, her hair plaited into two braids that trailed down her back. Her skin was tanned from frequent work in the harsh mountain sun, which would give way to early wrinkles and dark brown skin in later years. A man of darker skin but the same family facial structure stood behind her. He rested his large hands on the girl's shoulders. Her father.

"This Shizuru, daughter. You marry?" he said, an awful guttural noise to Cleon's ears.

The redhead gulped. He shook his head. "Now, wait a minute. I'm sorry, sir, but I've got a girlfriend."

The girl, Shizuru he presumed, frowned. "What is girlfriend?"

"Uh, uh… woman. I have a woman."

The man and his daughter looked around, confused. "Where woman? Woman supposed to be by man's side always."

Cleon didn't think it would be wise to contest this bit of knowledge, as it seemed to be the most natural and undeniable thing to them. "Um, right you are! Heheh, well, I… I definitely can't marry your daughter. Sorry, but—"

The man growled deep in his throat, causing Cleon to trail off in hysteric, nervous laughing. He leaned toward Cleon threateningly. "What wrong with my daughter? She not pretty?"

"Oh, very pretty! Very, very pretty!" he cried. _Although horribly under-aged…_

"Then, you marry her! She good worker! Pleases husband!" the man insisted, gesturing to his daughter in wide sweeps of his hand, a hand that could very well crush Cleon's skull as easily as one would crush an egg.

Cleon jumped to his feet, thoroughly terrified. 

"Just give me a moment to confer with my associate!" he squeaked and darted into the crowd of tables to find his only chance at salvation.

~~

Faleron allowed himself a modest smile. "Oh, wow! I haven't been this lucky in ages!" he lied. "To tell the truth, I've been having the worst losing streak. I'm sure I'll lose again if I were to play another game, say, in another hour."

The other three men had murderous expressions on their faces. They watched stoically as the Mithran newcomer swept all the coins and bills toward himself. Their fingers stealthily strayed toward the hunting weapons that were across their laps.

From out of nowhere, a perpetual cry of panic began. Faleron frowned and turned his head—

—just as Cleon leapt from out of nowhere and slid to a stop at Faleron's side. He hugged his friend's knees, reduced to rambling frantically about a large scary man wanting him to marry his daughter.

"You've got to help me! I don't know what to do!"

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Faleron complained. He could feel the glares of his fellow poker players burn into him. He tried to pry the redhead's hold from his legs as it was starting to conflict with circulation.

A few moments later, the large lumberjack of a man and his daughter were standing in front of the two hapless Mithrans. Cleon whimpered and clung even tighter to his lifeline.

"Where this wife you speak of?"

"Wife? Cleon, you're not—" Faleron began.

"Shh!" Cleon hissed. "Don't!"

The daughter, a little slow on the uptake and not too familiar with the language, pouted and poked Faleron in the shoulder. "You wife?"

"Yes! Genius idea!" the sharpshooter exclaimed and immediately climbed into Faleron's lap, much to the former thief's disgust. The other poker players made sounds of disapproval and spat on the floor, picking up whatever money they had left and leaving the table.

Faleron reached out to them. "No! No, it's not what it looks like! Come back!" He tried to throw his friend off, but Cleon was a leech refusing to let go. "Kennan, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He shook his head toward the watching man and his daughter. "I'm not with this man. Trust me. You can _have_ him."

"_NO_!" Cleon's cry of terror echoed throughout the inn, causing all who heard it to turn and stare.

The man began digging in his pockets for something. "Man marry Shizuru, take her back to his country with her, then Shizuru brings rest of family to the new country. Yes?"

"You're not going to _sell_ me, are you?" Cleon glared at Faleron accusingly.

"Of course I wouldn't, stupid. Now, let's talk to this fatherly chap and see if we can reach an understanding." He addressed the man again. "Sir, you can't just go around selling your daughter to an absolute stranger—whoa. That's a lot of money."

When the man had finished digging through his pockets, he opened his hands to reveal sparkling nuggets of gold. Faleron stood up, promptly dropping his friend to the floor with a painful thud. He leaned forward, his dexterous fingers itching to touch the little miracles in the man's cupped hands.

"Fal?"

"Changed my mind. Sorry, my good man. I'm selling you," Faleron murmured, staring at the gold.

The father appeared triumphant. "Migration Department not let family move on our own, so we marry oldest daughter off to foreigner! You take money for this man?"

The former thief grinned, the widest grin that Cleon had ever seen on his face. "You got it!  Cleon's all yours. I'll go get you his passports and his travel visas right now, sir!"

Before he could take a step, he found that his desperate companion anchored his feet down. He struggled to free himself of the hold, but stumbled to the floor, banging his elbows on the hardwood. "Let go!"

"How could you just _sell_ me?! I thought we were friends!"

Faleron beat his fists at Cleon's arms. "Oh, come on! She looks like a nice girl! Maybe I can talk Kalasin into sharing you! I'm sure a liberal minded person like her would be open to the idea!"

Shizuru, having no idea what their struggle meant, tittered happily like a pleased girl watching performing acrobats. She clapped her hands and beamed joyfully at her father, who returned her look with one of fatherly pride.

The two Mithrans continued to thrash about on the ground, pummeling each other with half-efforts, but still trying to inflict some pain upon the other. It went on for some time. Eventually, the man and his daughter sat down at the former poker table and counted out the appropriate number of gold nuggets to give for the dowry.

"Let… me… go!"

"No! How could you? _Selling_ me! Dude, that's so… not cool!" And the last part of the sentence was punctuated with an elbow to the stomach.

"GAH! KENNAN!"

~~

Keladry rolled up the map that Higgins had given to her, after having to listen to a few of his army anecdotes and having to sip from a glass of wine for a near half hour. She placed the map on the inside of her jacket for safekeeping. Hopefully, Imrah had stuck to his plans. She would be able to find Joren and Neal now. Hopefully.

She glanced over her shoulder at the guard that offered to escort her to the inn. She couldn't make sense of a Bazhir being so far from home, but she didn't want to seem nosy. The guard had turned out to be even more useful than the absentminded trade master. She was very grateful to him, although she couldn't express it.

As they entered the inn, Keladry became astonished at the number of people crowded around the center, hooting and hollering as if they were watching a cockfight. The thought of roosters being illegally bred and forced to fight each other seemed somewhat ridiculous to Keladry, as did the idea of two Pit bulls fighting it out in some inn in the mountains. She shouted to the bartender.

"What's going on?"

"Keladry?!" a familiar voice shouted. The crowd parted and before she could react, Cleon had burst through the line of people and leapt into Keladry's arms. She stumbled back a bit, staggering under the weight of the redhead holding on to her as if his life depended on it.

"Cleon? What—"

"Oh, Keladry! It's horrible! I was just minding my own business eating stew, then this guy comes up to me! And he's all like 'Grr! Marry daughter! Grr!' and I'm all like 'Dude, no way!' and he's like 'Grr' again… and then I go to _Faleron_, and they mistake him for my wife at first. But he clears that up right away. Disgusting idea, I tell ya, but I was ready to play along if it got me out of the mess. But then Fal sees the guy's gold—and let me tell you, there's a whole lot of gold—and he decides that it's okay! He tries to _sell_ me, Kel! Sell me! And mind you, I wouldn't care if it were one of those charity-auction things where a guy would be auctioned off for his services just one day… but this was like, holy matrimony and all that crap! Dude, the girl is young enough to be my kid sister! Sure, she is kinda pretty. I mean, she has Kalasin's dark hair and she's got some pretty nice curves for a teenager, but give me a break! I don't want to get married yet! Kel, oh Kel, you've got to help me! I don't want to have twenty new in-laws! I'm still trying to get over Roald's threat to kill me if I ever did anything bad to Kally!  HELP ME!"

Keladry, wide-eyed and utterly speechless, could only stand there and hold the sharpshooter bridal style in her arms. She couldn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth since he was babbling so rapidly. After a few moments, she snapped out of her shock and unceremoniously dropped him to the floor.

For the second time that day, Cleon rubbed his bottom from the fall and began to cling to her legs. In the meantime, Faleron and the two Yamanis had approached them, watching the spectacle with a mixture of perplexity and frustration.

"King! What's going on here?" Keladry demanded sternly.

The shorter man chuckled nervously. "Oh, you know how Kennan gets. He has _such_ a wild imagination. I daresay he might be in need of a psychiatrist. You know how unstable he's always been… Heheh…"

The Bazhir guard, although not fluent in the Common language, happened to be very adept at the Eastern Yamani dialect. He took the father aside and began conversing with him quietly. When he had just about received a full summary of the day's events, he turned to Keladry with a polite bow and explained.

She grasped the situation, trying to remain as calm as possible. _I'm gone for less than an hour and look what happens!_ Keladry instantly turned her head to glare at Faleron, who only shrugged and began to inspect his hands to see if they had obtained any damage from the small fistfight from a few minutes ago. She kicked at Cleon to cause the former shell of a man to let go and huddle behind the Bazhir. 

"I tell him that Shizuru have better luck finding husband elsewhere," the guard told Keladry. He pointed at Cleon. "I tell him that madness in this one's blood. Not good for future children."

Faleron chuckled. "You'd be surprised how close to the truth that is."

"Traitor!" Cleon yelled, peering at him from between the guard's feet. 

Keladry pinched the bridge of her nose and commanded herself to breath deeply. "Okay, okay. You two go up to the room. Cleon, please calm down and start behaving like an adult. Faleron, you are _not_ allowed to sell him to anyone! And I mean that!" She turned to the guard and nodded her head to him. "Thank you so much. I know this seems very odd and it must have been a lot of trouble… I really do appreciate it."

The Bazhir guard smiled. "Not as bad as arguing between the blond man and his companion. But it make excitement. Much excitement for boring job."

She returned the smile and let out a deep breath. "Well then!" She shook hands with the father and patted Shizuru consolingly on the back. "I'm sure you'll find some very handsome man out there. I'd rather you marry for love, not passports, but I have a feeling that you'd do the latter anyway."

With that, she began to wearily drag her feet across the saloon, making slow progress up the stairs after her two arguing friends ahead of her. She was almost at the top of the stairs when the father called up to her again with a whistle. Keladry leaned over the railing. "Yes?"

"I have son! He older than Shizuru by two winters—very, very strong! Make you happy! Would please many woman in their tents, see, because he has very big—"

Before she could hear any more, she dashed up the rest of the stairs and ran down the entire hallway with her fingers plugged into her ears.

~~

Author's note: Phew! I tell ya, it took a long time for me to write this scene. I paced and paced and paced (as I do when I'm brainstorming) and finally I came up with this odd thing. Oh dear, I think I've traumatized Cleon for life. 

Anyway, tell me what you think! I hope I made _someone_ laugh. I've been slacking off on the comedy so much this season that I'm finding it very hard to get back into the swing of things.

Next episode! Joren and Neal have found the plane. Now what? They run into some unforeseen troubles and stumble upon an ancient secret that will change their lives forever! Episode 10 of It Could Be Worse Season 3! **Enter the Mist…**!

See ya there!


	10. Enter the Mist

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 10: Enter the Mist…    **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13… drama, revelations, and witty banter—oh my!

~~

The glare of the sun upon the bright snow capped mountains temporarily blinded Neal as he followed his guide Imrah and his partner Joren up the increasingly steep slope. He wrapped his hand around the rope that connected the three men. The rope gave him a sense of security, though he knew he had more to fear than falling to his death.

Squinting despite the shaded goggles over his eyes, Neal surveyed the area around them. He gazed distrustfully at the area that they were supposed to hike down upon. His small sense of vertigo had multiplied since arriving in the mountain range.

"Would you keep up? I hate having the rope stretched so tight because you're lagging behind," Joren groused. He glared at him before turning back around and following their guide.

"Sorry." Neal sighed. He hastened his step so as not to incur Joren's wrath again, but he couldn't help but look around at the scenery around him. The beauty of nature still caught him off guard sometimes. Though the place was cold enough to kill an unprepared man, Neal also noted that the appearance of plains of snow created a clean, untouched feeling. He felt at peace with himself when he wasn't thinking of the crashed plane or of his less than agreeable partner.

A blur of brown and gray from the corner of his vision caused Neal to stop again. He frowned and looked over his shoulder. 

Joren felt the rope stretch taut again and cursed. "Queenscove! What is the matter with you? Can't you do as you're told?"

"I would, except she's there."

The former special operative turned fully around at that, being very careful to keep his balance. Imrah halted as well. The two other men retraced their steps again until they were on the same level as Neal. The captivated officer was now leaning against the snow and rock, watching the wild woman above him.

Joren sneered. "Damn it. How long do you think she's been following us? Legann?"

Imrah shrugged. "She could have followed us from the very beginning for all we know."

"Maybe I should ask her for help. I'm sure she would have noticed a plane crashing in her mountains," Neal said. He looked forward to talking to Shinkokami again. It was a common for men like Neal to always wish for the one thing they could never have. Unfortunately, he did not have the strength of mind to resist it.

"Tell her to go away. We can't trust anything she tells us."

Neal was about to protest, but Imrah began nodding his head. "I agree with Mr. Stone. Though she would not bear us any ill will for any reason I can think of, evil things are always at her heels."

"You mean… those beasts? Those wolf-beasts that attacked us?" Neal asked. His eyes were still fixed on the beauty overhead.

The old guide let out a deep breath. "They follow her everywhere. They become jealous if anyone talks to their mistress."

Joren appropriately elbowed Neal hard in the side. The taller officer winced.

"How was I supposed to know?"

The blond was silent for a few moments. He, too, stared at Shinkokami, who remained unmoving on her icy perch. Finally, he turned to Neal and squeezed his arm so firmly that the other man let out a small yelp.

"New rule," Joren whispered to his partner. "You don't _talk_ unless one of those beasts is chewing your leg off."

Neal blinked. He decided to test his limits. "What if they're chewing my arm?"

"Then I point and laugh my highly amused ass off." He released Neal's arm. "Travel up a bit and tell her to go away. You heard him. She brings a lot of bad karma with her. We really don't need that right now."

"I didn't think you believed in karma."

"I believe in kicking your ass," Joren offered with a malicious undertone.

Having found new inspiration for the task, Neal reluctantly removed the rope from the harness around his waist. He took a deep breath and began climbing up the way they had come. The slightly steep slope offered little purchase for him to grab hold of. It took him several minutes to travel half the distance between him and Shinkokami.

_This is the Stairmaster from hell,_ he thought, his chest heaving. He scolded himself for not leaving his pack behind with his companions. The weight on his back and at his waist only inhibited his movement. He finally halted and removed his goggles and scarf so she could see his face.

"Shinkokami! Princess!" he shouted, though not too loudly. He had no idea how loud someone would have to scream to cause an avalanche, or if it was even possible, but he didn't want to find out. He dug his feet into the snow as deep as he could so as to anchor himself. "Can we have a word?"

She gazed upon him disdainfully. Flinging her long black hair over her shoulder, she gracefully lowered herself a few more feet. She crouched, wrapping her assortment of skins and furs tightly around her body. The image reminded him of a mountain lion waiting to pounce.

"Hi," Neal grinned. He cleared his throat. "Um, Shinko—can I call you Shinko? Anyway, my associates and I were wondering if you could stop following us." He nervously clasped his hands in front of himself. "I mean, you're wonderful eye candy, but you're a trouble magnet, too. So, would you be so kind as to… go away?"

His heart was pounding. A few moments after his brief monologue had ended, Shinkokami shifted her weight around and stood again. Now she appeared to him as a goddess of some sort, poised above him in such a way that he was reminded of not just a princess, but also a queen among queens.

"Why are you here? What right do you have to be here?" she demanded. It was at that point that Neal noticed a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over her back. At her waist was a sheathed dagger. He hoped he wouldn't have to see her use it.

"Our friends' plane went down somewhere in these mountains," he explained. "We found their plane, but they're not in it. Perhaps you have seen them?"

She seemed to be considering his words. Neal thought he had a very honest appearance. He wouldn't tell _her_ a lie. In fact, he didn't think he was capable of it. Finally, she shook her head. "No. I have not seen them. But I know where they might be. If you swear by the souls of your mothers to leave after you find them, then maybe I shall show you."

The idea of swearing by the soul of a woman he had known very little bothered him. Then again, he didn't have a choice if he wanted to find Keladry's brothers and get out of the freezing country. Showing off a triumphant smile, Neal turned around and flashed a thumbs-up to Joren, who scowled. He turned back to Shinkokami. "I swear. Now. Just one more question for the lovely lady."

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"How in the world does some phantom girl of legend learn to speak Common?"

The corner of her mouths lifted upwards in a suppressed smile. She began to descend to him. As she did, Neal's eyes lit up. Out of habit, he offered his arm to her as she came within range, but she declined politely with a shake of a head. 

Joren and Imrah eyed the spectacle above with mistrust. The officer growled and reached for his weapon. "_Nealan_," he ground out through clenched teeth, savoring the effect that the disliked name had on his partner. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Neal was indignant that such a bad reaction would come from his success and glared at Joren. "I happen to be getting help! Face it, Stone! We don't know where our missing people could be and she—"

His reply was cut off prematurely when his foot missed a step. As he tottered on the steep face of the mountain, he waved his arms frantically and muttered, "Oh shit."

Below, Joren looked up at his flailing partner and sighed with a weary acceptance. "Oh shit."

…The last words that were heard before Neal tripped and began tumbling down. Joren and Imrah, too weighed down by their packs, were unable to move out of their way. The plummeting man struck both of his comrades and soon, all three were sliding down the snow and screaming bloody murder. They desperately tried to stop themselves by reaching out and grasping anything that their hands could reach. Unfortunately, the weight of their packs and the smooth texture of their parkas and jackets made it nearly impossible. Even Joren began to curse the uselessness of the shoes he had bought specially for the purpose of its rough, spiked bottom.

Shinkokami sat down on a cleared patch of rock and waited patiently for them to come to a stop. 

Men. They always had to make everything so difficult for her.

~~

When Joren awoke again, he felt himself being jostled about in a rhythmic movement. He was being carried on a stretcher, he realized. A bit of snow had drifted onto his face, making it difficult to open his eyes first since his eyelashes were joined by the frost. Now he blinked slowly. His gloved hands weakly reached up to part the blankets that were wrapped around him. Many parts of his body ached from the fall, but at least he would be up on his feet sooner than his companions. He didn't like the prospect of being injured and defenseless.

He made an attempt to sit up while they were still moving. A hand pushed him down and peered down at his face. A feminine voice shouted something in Yamani that he couldn't understand. The stretcher carriers stopped and held still while their leader bent down toward Joren.

"You're the first one awake. Are you well enough to walk?" she asked. It was Shinkokami. This time however, her hair was combed and tied back in a large bun that he'd seen Eastern Yamani women wear for formal appearances. Her clothing was also changed. She still retained some of the snug furs from before, but now they were coupled with rich green and red silk scarves that trailed around her. He wisely decided not to comment that she had missed the Christmas season.

This time, he sat up without her pushing him back down. "Yes. I'm fine." He glanced at his carriers—men, he decided, who were so bundled up in their own skins and furs that Joren couldn't distinguish one from the other. "Who are these guys? Where did they come from? Where are Queenscove and Legann?"

Shinkokami gestured behind them. Joren eased himself out of the stretcher, a basic thing made of two long sticks and a stretched coarse cloth between them. He saw two other pairs of men carrying Neal and Imrah. Blankets had also been provided for them. It was obvious that the two other injured men wouldn't be awake for some time.

"Great," he grumbled. He faced his reluctant rescuer again. "Well, who are these guys? What do you want from us?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What I want is to help you find your friends so that you may leave these mountains and never return! These men answered my call. We will take you to the City. Hopefully there, you may find who you are looking for."

Joren decided to study his surroundings. They were definitely not in the same place as before. In fact, they were on a path that seemed to circle the part of mountain they were on. In the distance, he could see a series of incredibly tiny valleys that was covered with green. He identified the moving white and gray dots to be animals grazing. He frowned. It should have been physically impossible for there to be so much vibrant plant life at such altitudes.

"Very few foreigners have ever been this far," Shinkokami told him, as if reading his mind. "There are many unexplainable things here, but it is best that you do not dwell on them. You must concentrate on what you came here for."

He took back his things from one of the men and hoisted it onto his shoulders again. The shadows of the mountains did not make it necessary for him to put his goggles back over his face. He stuffed them into a pocket and began a small inventory of his other equipment.

"We did not take anything from you, if that was what you were thinking. Even your gun is there."

"I'll check for it just the same, thank you very much," he said, still eyeing the woman with blatant doubt. Finding nothing amiss, he nodded. "Okay. How long until we get to this… City?" 

It was no use fighting against her. He couldn't carry Imrah and Neal on his own. And since they had moved them so far from their initial point of contact, Joren had no idea where they were. He had no choice but to trust these strange people.

Joren Stone did not take a thing such as trust lightly.

"We shall arrive there as soon as we reach the other side of that mountain," Shinkokami answered. She pointed ahead of them, down the path that they had already begun to travel upon.

He nearly betrayed a gasp of astonishment as his eyes rested upon what must have been the most colossal mountain he had ever seen. It must have covered as much ground as one of Mithros' major cities. Joren craned his head back to see the summit of the mountain, but he couldn't make it out. Indeed, the stone giant was so tall that it touched the clouds and even surpassed them.

"That's impossible. It would have gone down in geographical history," he muttered to himself. He imagined that it was simply a fog that was low in the air. It made so much more sense when he began explaining it to himself that way.

Shinkokami shrugged dismissively. "Nothing is impossible. Just well hidden."

"It will take us days to go around that," Joren protested.

She scoffed. "Well, we _had_ been traveling at an accelerated rate until you woke up. Now that you must walk with us, we shall have to slow down." She pointed down the path again. "And we're not even going around the mountain. Even at our true pace, it would take days, as you said. The real path lies underground."

He blinked. "Underground." He took in all the impossibilities that he could see and that she had just told him. Of course there was a tunnel underground. Anything was possible at this point. "Sure. Okay. Whatever. Lead the way."

"Good. We shall be there sometime during the night. If you feel tired again, let me know and the litter shall be prepared again," Shinkokami advised.

He nodded, but eyed the two poles and the cloth with contempt. They continued hiking down the worn path. Every now and then, Joren could see a few pieces of dung. They traveled on a shepherd's path. He tried to familiarize himself with the surroundings and took note of any forks or turns. In the back of his mind, a part of him acknowledged this as useless. 

"How long have I been unconscious?" he asked Shinkokami.

"It is late morning now, so…a little under a full day. We have had to pour a bit of wine into all your mouths. Luckily you did not gag, but swallowed it reflexively. Do you wish for drink or food?"

He touched his chapped lips. "Um, no. I've got my own."

As he reached behind him to an easy to access pocket for food, he recalled the legend that Imrah had told him. He nodded toward the giant mountain. "Is that what I think it is? Enishijirou?"

Shinkokami hesitated. "The old one has been spinning tales, I see. Yes, that is Enishijirou."

"Why do you look at me so strangely?"

"You ask too many questions," she huffed.

Joren chewed on his rations. "I don't like being uninformed. So, answer me. You don't think I haven't noticed how strangely you look at me? You did it even when you were talking to Queenscove."

"Was I?"

"Yes."

The wild woman sped up her pace. Joren did the same. She rounded on him angrily. "You are egotistical. What makes you think I was secretly observing you?"

Joren stared her down. "Because I know what it feels like to be watched."

She rolled her eyes and mumbled something he couldn't hear. She finally looked up at him again and began walking as they had before. He joined her. "Yes," she admitted. "I had glanced a few times. I was surprised to see someone of your… appearances here. I thought you would be…" she paused. "Somewhere else."

"My appearances? What of my appearances?" he pressed.

"You cannot threaten me to tell you, foreigner! I do not have to tell you anything. I have but to say it and these men with us will dump your friends down the side of the mountain and leave you to freeze to death!" she yelled. With that, she stormed up to the front of the group and remained by the side of the lead litter bearer. 

Joren dropped back so that he walked evenly with the leading man carrying Neal's stretcher. He didn't understand Shinkokami and he couldn't figure out while Neal was so obsessed with her. This experience had only proven his belief that people were made up primarily of confusion and deceit. Neal was mostly confused. Shinko mostly deceived.

And Joren… well, Joren deceived, too. But he didn't think that mattered here.

At last, the path led into the side of a mountain. The tunnel that continued from that point was completely pitch black. It was just the height of the tallest man among them, and only wide enough for two people to walk abreast. It would have to be shoulder to shoulder, though. Joren decided it would be wise to be between Neal and Imrah, since he couldn't fit beside the litters. The thought of the wolf beasts that followed Shinkokami still lingered on his mind. Being at the rear of the group would put him at risk during attack.

Shinkokami entered the tunnel first. She touched the walls with the tips of her fingers. Suddenly, Joren could see a soft blue glow coming from within. The train of people proceeded. As Joren entered, he discovered that the light was emitted from swirl-shaped markings carved into the walls. On closer inspection, it almost looked like minerals imbedded in the rock. He wanted to chip away a fragment for further observation, but decided to do it later when he was alone.

They moved rather swiftly through the tunnels. Joren realized he wasn't as cold as he had been inside. If he were to remove a layer of clothing, perhaps two, he would be quite comfortable. He kept his clothing on, anyway. There was always a chance he might have to exit the way he came and he didn't look forward to becoming a human icicle.

Several hours passed. Joren was tiring from the prolonged traveling, but at least his aches from the tumble had healed themselves. He nibbled now and then on his rations and took drinks from his solar powered thermos—though the water was now cold thanks to the relative darkness.

He looked at his pager and discovered that the display screen was still scrambled. It must have been nearly half a day since they had entered the tunnel. If he didn't have such a good threshold for pain or such a large ego, he would have taken his new guide up on her offer for the litter.

"We are almost at the First Gate," Shinkokami called. Joren sought for her with his eyes, but all he could see was a few shadows against the blue light.

"First Gate?" he turned his head slightly and asked the man behind him. If Shinkokami spoke Common, there was a good chance that these men did, too.

"The First Gate leads to the First District of the city. It is a series of caverns that Shinkokami has domain in. Mostly peasants live there. The Second Gate leads to the next district, which is only partially under Enishijirou. The rest of it is aboveground in the valley. The third region is the Palace itself. We shall bring you there," the man explained in a deep, accented voice. He reminded Joren of Dom for some reason. It caused him to frown and turn facing front again without asking any more questions.

_Caverns,_ Joren thought. _Legann's legend about Shinkokami said something about underground havens, didn't it?_ He wished he had paid more attention when Neal had asked their guide about it. Perhaps she had something to do with the creation of this place. 

It was still a little incredulous to him. Exactly one day ago, he wouldn't have thought that there could be much more out here than a bunch of snow. Now he was traveling with a woman he didn't trust and her supposed servants to a secret city hidden in the most remote region on the planet. 

Maybe he had taken one too many blows to the head. He could blame Neal's clumsiness for that. His partner would be sure to hear another sound lecture from Joren as soon as he was awake. If he awoke. This was Neal's second major accident within the past year. The blond seriously considered it more prudent if his partner would be demoted to a safer rank. Second class officers were given much less severe jobs. Kel would be happy that Neal was safe.

_Kel._

Joren shook his head. As much as he wanted to dwell on thoughts about her, he knew that once he began, he would not want to stop. He focused instead, on the light blue markings on the wall. As soon as they had passed a particular area, he noticed that the marks extinguished themselves again. Could only Shinkokami activate them?

_I have a flashlight. I can use a flashlight if I really need to,_ he told himself. His batteries were in dire need of charging, however, and there was no solar energy to be found for his other equipment since they were now underground. He distantly wondered if the blue light of the tunnels would work as solar energy.

"We are here," Shinkokami called. They proceeded more slowly than before. The tunnel opened into a small cave—a dome, almost. Like the tunnel, swirl-shaped markings covered the interior of the cave. The blue light was brighter here. Joren gazed around him in wonder.

The size of the cave was large enough to put thirty standing people with space to swing their arms around them. Tiles of rectangular shapes covered the floor. Each tile had a character of the Yamani language upon them, painted in black. Nothing appeared chipped or old. If Joren wasn't so skeptical, he might believe that someone had recently swept the place with a fine bristled broom.

A large set of doors faced opposite from the tunnel entrance. They appeared to be wrought from some sort of metal. He couldn't identify the type, but it appeared impervious to any large blows or attacks. The doors were outlined in what Joren was able to classify as a semi-precious stone. Jade, or perhaps malachite. 

The doors had no handles, but raised images of animals crafted from the metal of the door itself. Even with modern blacksmithing technology, such a detailed work would still require a great deal of time and precision. He could clearly see lions, tigers, elephants, wolves, hawks, falcons, and even a rat or two. 

"Someone cover his eyes," Shinkokami commanded.

Joren backed away from the group. "Wait a second. I'm not going to be blindfolded."

She sneered. "You, _foreigner_, are not permitted to see how the doors open." 

She issued an order to one of Joren's former litter bearers to wrap his scarf around Joren's eyes. The officer hated that he had no choice to submit. Neal and Imrah were still unconscious, so Joren couldn't put them at risk with a clear conscience.

His hand was placed on the back of the man who blindfolded him. He tensely waited, trying to pick up any sound at all. After a few moments, there was a scraping sound. He assumed that it was the bottom of the doors moving against the floor. Then, they began to advance. Joren followed awkwardly. He had the strangest feeling he was going to walk into a wall. Luckily, his sight guide didn't have that sense of humor.

He had gone about thirty steps when they halted again. Shinkokami commanded the man to remove Joren's blindfold. Joren kept his eyes shut, still, but after a few seconds, opened them.

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me," he muttered to no one in particular. His gaze swept over the cavern before him with disbelief. The cavern was as large as a football field. But everywhere he looked, there was a crude structure built, either out of rocks or warped pieces of wood. They reminded him of cubes stacked one on top of the other. It had the effect of creating a human beehive.

In the area directly in front of him, men and women in skins, furs, and other brightly colored cloths were going about their business. It almost appeared as if it were a marketplace or a merchant's forum. A few cows and horses milled about their stalls and poss. Even a few rams caused a ruckus as they butted heads with each other.

_Where's that light coming from?_ Joren pondered. He leaned his head back to take a look at the cavern ceiling. Stalactites hanging from overhead were imbedded with thousands of different colored minerals. They resembled the blue deposits from the tunnel, but since these minerals were of various colors, they all blended to cast a mostly clear white light. Even the stalagmites seemed to have their use as lampposts. Some were even used as cornerstones for domiciles. 

He decided that he would never enjoy living in such a place. He would be too worried about stalactites and other rocks being able to fall. Shinkokami seemed to notice his apprehension and said, "There are more things in those rocks than just pretty stones. This place shall never collapse in on itself."

He was about to reply with a snide comment, but stepped back when someone emerged from a doorway above and called to them. An older woman, dressed similarly to the Yamani natives Joren had met outside the mountains, slid down a ladder from her home on the second level of one of the hive-structures. Her many long necklaces of bright beads rattled as she bowed numerous times to Shinkokami.

The two women began conversing with each other in quiet tones. Shinkokami gestured to Joren, then to his 'sleeping' companions. The woman nodded vigorously, causing her slightly gray braids to fly around her head. 

"Your friends will be awakened and treated here. We will travel a bit further tonight by animal and sleep in the Second District," she informed him.

Joren glanced back at the horses on the other side of the forum. "I don't like horses."

She snorted. "Who said we were going to use horses? They are skittish in the First District. They are mostly used in the Second District, where they can roam in the Valley Plains."

"Of course. How stupid of me," he mumbled sarcastically. "So what are we going to ride?"

"You shall see. Now is not the time." She called out an order. Neal and Imrah were brought inside the first hut of the hive to their right. The old woman followed, clucking her tongue like a disapproving matriarch. 

Inside, Joren was slightly amazed to learn that there was more room than appeared on the outside. Of course there were no windows, just smooth planes of stone. The wooden furniture was very standard and functional. A few decorations, such as multicolored tapestries and rugs adorned the place. Even a rocking chair in the corner of the first room gave the place a normal touch.

They carried Imrah and Neal into the next room. They were placed on thick mats that were on the floors. Joren kneeled between them as the old woman retrieved medicinal herbs and potions from her private stock in a large pantry.

She poured a few drops of purple sap from a vial into each of their mouths. Slowly, Neal began to stir. He groaned slightly and moved to roll onto his side. The old woman, satisfied, started to pay more attention to Imrah.

Shinkokami listened intently as the old woman spoke rapidly in the Eastern Yamani language. Joren felt slightly ashamed that he was technically a Yamani native, but knew nothing of the language of the eastern states. 

"She says the old man will need more rest. Your younger friend will be completely fine, but you will have to leave this other one here while you move on to the Second District and the Palace."

Joren stood up. "No. I'm responsible for him, too. I'm not leaving him behind."

"You do not have any say in the matter. Your companion will rejoin you tomorrow, whether you like it or not. Now tend to your other friend. He is waking up."

Neal was indeed showing more signs of life. He moved his arms about as if trying to ward off invisible tormentors. Joren laid a hand on the taller man's shoulder. Neal woke up with a start, breathing in sharply and opening his eyes wide.

"Oh! I have the biggest headache," he moaned, cradling his head in both hands while sitting up. He screwed his eyes shut again and hissed in pain.

The old woman chuckled and tilted Neal's head back, placing a few red leaves on top of his tongue.

"Wah! Wha iz tha?" he sputtered. The woman held a hand over Neal's mouth, forcing him not to spit it out.

"Hope you enjoyed your beauty sleep," Joren said cynically. "Now before you start to spaz out, as I'm sure you will, let me explain what has happened within the last twenty four hours." He then went on to describe Shinkokami's "generous" rescue and the long trip from the outside world to the legendary Mount Enishijirou.

Neal gaped at him with his mouth open and leaf-covered tongue out, presenting a ridiculous sight. The old woman eventually took the leaves off and poured some water into Neal's mouth. He swallowed and coughed. "Gah! Whatever those leaves are, they're strong stuff."

"Your headache gone?"

"Um, actually it is." He blinked. "Strange."

Shinkokami approached from the first room. Neal bolted to his feet, bowing deeply. "Thank you so much for your assistance, Shinko. I knew you would help us!"

Joren rolled his eyes.

"You may take a short time to eat and relieve yourselves. I will be waiting outside with our transportation," she said, whirling around briskly and marching out. The other men followed her. Neal pouted, disappointed.

The old woman gestured further back in the room. They supposed this was where they were supposed to wash up and "do their business". When she left the room, she drew a curtain over the doorway to allow them privacy. 

Neal shuffled to the corner and gazed down at the hole. He could faintly make out a pipe. "A variation of a toilet, I suppose?" He also spied several jugs of water on a barred shelf and a large basin of water. "The floor tilts downward over here. I suppose it's a multi-purpose bath and toilet, then."

Joren sighed. "Absolutely wonderful."

His partner snickered. "I suppose that everyone around here is an expert at ballet squats, then. Not to mention the men having… _impeccable_ aiming abilities."

Joren glared at him in disgust. "Just take your turn, Queenscove and let me know when you're done." He turned around and strode to the other side of the room where a few bowls of dried fruit and bread awaited. "They don't have any meat to offer in this house. I suppose we'll have to use our rations."

After the slightly embarrassing (or in Joren's arrogant eyes, mortifying) experience with the makeshift hygienic utilities, they checked on Imrah one last time. The old woman assured them that he would be fine by smiling excessively and pushing them gently toward the doorway. Shinkokami waited impatiently outside.

"Do they have proper plumbing in the Second District, or should we expect chamber pots?" Joren asked with disdain in his voice.

"They have far better technologies there than in your pathetic world," Shinkokami haughtily replied. She whistled.

At once, three large wolf beasts, larger than the ones that had attacked Joren and Neal, appeared. They leapt from the rock formations outside the hive structures and lied down obediently in front of Shinkokami.

Neal balked. "No way. Nuh-uh. Don't think so!"

She began stroking the large heads of the two closest creatures in front of her. "These are domesticated versions of the wild wolves you saw outside. They are not as skittish as horses in the First District."

With that, she straddled one large light gray wolf. It jumped up to a standing position and waited patiently for commands. She gestured for Neal and Joren to follow her example. Joren adjusted the pack on his back.

"Do not take those with you. Leave it here," Shinkokami said. She pointed to the doorway where Neal and Imrah's packs had already been set aside. 

Joren angrily threw his things down. He touched his belt for his holster. "I'm still keeping my gun."

"If you wish," she shrugged. "Hurry up and mount. Hold onto their fur. Be careful that you do not get thrown off."

Both men cautiously approached the large wolves that were lying on their bellies. Neal picked the black one whose tongue was lolling out its mouth. He slowly straddled it and tentatively reached for a fistful of fur behind its neck. The wolf slowly got up. His nerves gradually calmed down. "Hey, it's not so bad. These ones are a lot different from the ones outside. Like… big hairy ponies with sharp teeth."

"Right, Queenscove. Ponies." He scoffed. Joren seated himself on the other one, a dark gray animal who was not as enthusiastic. It waited patiently until he was ready to jump to its feet. 

"I think he likes me!" Neal laughed, scratching his mount between the ears. It turned its head and licked Neal's offered hand. He glanced at Joren and blushed. "What?"

"Halfway around the world and I'm still surrounded by idiots," the blond officer muttered.

With a quickly shouted word, Shinkokami rode forward. The other two automatically followed, giving both unaccustomed men a jolt of uncertainty in their positions. The people in the marketplace parted. Most of them seemed to be packing up and going inside for the night anyway. Thick black curtains were drawn over the windows and doorways. A few men threw dark cloths over the shorter stalagmites to dim the overall lighting.

The wolves turned out of the marketplace eventually and began running through a darker network of paths and roads outside of the central cavern. Shinkokami glanced over her shoulder. "There are many caverns between the First and Second Gates. We should be able to reach the Second District just before midnight."

Both men instinctively held on tighter to their mounts and looked in speechless wonder at their surroundings as they practically flew past. The roads were mostly larger versions of the tunnels they had used going toward the First Gate. Phosphorous minerals, Joren had finally labeled the blue swirls, but he still had his doubts. 

After a while, they began to lose speed. By this time, they had taken so many twists and turns that Joren and Neal were both sure that they would not be able to return on their own. Shinkokami approached a dark part of the tunnel where the soft glowing light did not reach. 

"Who goes there? And at this ruddy hour of the night?" an annoyed male voice called from the inky blackness.

"Gatekeeper! Mind your tongue!" Shinkokami rebuked.

There was a series of noises in the darkness, as if someone were scrambling to his feet. Slowly, a large red crystal began to glow from atop a large brass staff. The crystal itself was pyramidal in shape and the staff was equal in height to the man who held it. 

"Forgive my ignorance, Mistress. It is after appropriate curfew," the Gatekeeper explained. He bowed. He was a young man with pale skin and long pale blond hair tied in a small ponytail. He had a rather fragile appearance to him because of his bright red silken tunic and his many bejeweled ornaments.

Shinkokami turned to Neal and Joren. "Dismount. The Gatekeeper will take you through. Someone should greet you on the other side and take you to some lodgings for the night."

"Wouldn't it have been better to let us stay with Imrah?" Neal asked. He and Joren got down from the backs of the large wolves. Neal's mount licked the officer's face and made a whining sound before darting back down the tunnel with its companion.

"The less of you in my domain, the better." Shinkokami turned about and rode away. The blue lights brightening and darkening signaled her departure. Neal seemed partially upset that he hadn't a chance to wish her sweet dreams.

The Gatekeeper yawned and stretched his arms over his head, causing numerous bracelets to jangle on his forearms. "Well, come on then. I haven't got all night."

They followed him into the smaller tunnel, lit only by the red crystal of the staff. Joren squinted. "You're not one of them. Eastern Yamani. Are you?"

"No. I'm from the northern states, actually. Don't ask how I got all the way here. It's an odd story that seems more like a dream to me than anything else." He scratched his back and casually began to whistle.

Neal wrinkled his nose. "I would have figured someone with as ominous a title as Gatekeeper would be a little more… intimidating."

"Ha! Just comes to show what _you_ know," the man bit back a laugh. He came to a stop before a gate that was at least ten feet high and fifteen feet across. Like the First Gate, it was made of metal and had impressions of animal's images all over it. The only difference between this and that was that there was a golden circle in the middle with the imprint of a hand upon it. 

The Gatekeeper ambled over to the side of the door and stuck his staff in a hole in the ground. He wiped his palms on the thighs of his pants and put his hand on the corresponding hand on the gate door. A spark of blue light flashed around the golden circle and spread through the entire surface in little paths outlining all the images. The Gatekeeper stepped back as the gate slowly began to rise.

Joren could hear the unseen chains and wheels turn and move with the opening of the large gate. The other man stood by, unimpressed by what was to him the normal way of things. When the Second Gate was open, he stood aside and made a sweeping gesture with his arm for them to go through.

The Second District was drastically different from the first. Although part of it was supposedly still beneath Enishijirou, the high ceilings of the caverns had very few stalactites. Shining, glittering rocks and stones covered the entire surface. They were blue, Joren noted, but a dark navy blue as if the ceiling itself was attempting to imitate a starry night sky.

On the ground, several structures came into view. Towers made of white stone stood out among the countless homes. Every single one was made out of the same white stone, though few of these were stacked like the hive centers of the First District, and all of them consisted of smooth surfaces and straight, geometrically practical designs. The only curves existed in the pagoda-style roofs that covered each building. These homes also had the benefit of colored glass windows and actual doors as opposed to curtains.

The structures seemed to be plotted on a grid of sorts, as far as both men could see. The streets of the Second District were cleared from most obstructions. On a few of the corners, they could see signs and lanterns hanging from stalagmites. 

What stood out most was the assortment of jewels and precious stones that were imbedded in almost every single surface. On closer observation, they saw that the white stone that constituted the houses and the other buildings was littered with what appeared to be diamonds or pieces of white gold. Even where they stood, a sign to the right of a gate that pictured an arrow and a painting of a green valley was framed in gold and emeralds.

"I see now how you can just wear all that jewelry as if it weren't anything at all," Neal said to the Gatekeeper. He blinked slowly, as if he were afraid everything before him was a mirage. "Is all this real?"

The Gatekeeper shrugged. "Well, of course. Why wouldn't it be?" He noted their stares. "It's not like you can remove the jewels from the stone. You need special equipment to do that, or else the damned things turn to dust. Magic, I suppose."

"Haven't you ever considered taking what you have and going back to the northern states a rich man?" Joren asked.

The man frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"Everyone who dwells under Enishijirou, sirs, wants no more than they receive," said a feminine voice behind them. They turned around.

A woman dressed in a flowing kimono of yellow and peach colored silk stood before them. Her long trailing sleeves were embroidered with patterns of pink birds and flowers. She was of Eastern Yamani descent. It was obvious in the almond shape of her eyes and the perfect blackness of her hair, which was swept up into a loose bun. Like the Gatekeeper, she wore many thin necklaces of gold on her long pale neck and many jeweled bracelets and rings on her slender arms.

"Good evening to you, Mistress," said the Gatekeeper. "I'll be going back to my post now. Get some shut-eye perhaps."

"Pleasant dreams, Gatekeeper," the woman said. Her voice was high-pitched and musical, as if she were about to break out into song any second.

The Gatekeeper bowed to her and retreated to his place on the other side of the Second Gate. The thick metal gate lowered back into place, with less noise than before. When it was finally shut, the woman addressed her two new guests and bowed slightly to them.

"I am Lady Haname. You will stay in my home tonight. In the morning, I shall escort you to the Palace."

Neal, always courteous in the face of sophistication, bowed as well as he could, though his sore body protested much of that. "My name is Neal Queenscove, milady." He glanced warily at his partner. "And that's Joren Stone. Don't mind him. He has no concept of elegance."

Joren glared at him. He turned over a few peculiar matters in his mind before speaking. "How is it that people under Enishijirou don't feel any greed, then?"

Lady Haname sighed. "That would be better explained by His Majesty or one of his advisors. I am merely your hostess." She gestured down the street. "It would be best if we go now before all the lanterns dim."

"Yeah, what's with that anyway? Simulated day and night under here?" Neal asked. They started to walk after her.

"Many reflected beams of light actually. Only half of the Second District is under the mountain. There are many openings and mirrors that reflect light from the outside. Coupled with the magic of the stones, the light inside the caverns brightens and dims according to the time outside."

They walked along the street for a few minutes before coming to a set of stairs that led into an underground tunnel. Orange lanterns lined the passageway. They caused the gems in the passage walls to shine and glitter.

"What's this? A subway?" Neal asked as they descended into the new area.

"Similar, I believe," Lady Haname answered, though she seemed unsure of the answer. 

They walked out onto a platform of white stone. Beside the platform were numerous sets of tracks, similar to that of train tracks, though smaller and thinner. A man with short dark brown hair and a bright orange tunic and pants stood up from his place behind a glass window. He exited his gilt framed booth of polished mahogany and bowed to them. 

"Sorry, milady. I'm the only technician here during this shift. This way please." He led them to a stone bridge that crossed over the many tracks and branched off to different platforms between each track. He had memorized the look of many of his patrons and knew which area to transport them by heart.

"Now, he's definitely not Eastern Yamani either," Neal whispered to Joren. They exchanged suspicious looks.

They stepped down onto the fourth platform. The technician pulled a lever that stuck out from the platform. A single car rolled down the tracks and came to a stop. It resembled Cinderella's carriage rather than any sort of subway or train. It was light blue with tiny silver vines surrounding the entire exterior. Even a driver was included. Behind the pumpkin shaped carriage was a red-cushioned bench that seated a man dressed in the same orange tunic as the technician. 

"Good evening, milady. Pleasant wishes for you all," the driver greeted. He was of the same ethnicity of Lady Haname, which only confused the two DJPF officers even more. A city that was supposed to have been isolated from foreigners for centuries, perhaps even millennia, happened to house many who were not of the original culture. 

"Have a nice night," the technician said as he opened the small half-door to the carriage. 

Lady Haname nodded to him and gracefully entered the carriage. She sat down on a seat of satin pillows and leaned back against the similarly cushioned walls of the carriage. Neal and Joren got in after her and sat on the opposite seat. Though they were loath to sit next to each other, there was a silent agreement between them that there was something about Lady Haname's elegance and, indeed, the whole City's classiness that made them suspicious.

"Are there many outsiders that have taken residence in this city?" Joren asked as they began to move down the track.

Their hostess smiled congenially. "I suppose you could say that."

"Why? I thought this place was as isolated as it gets."

"I do not possess that knowledge, sir."

"Well, you seemed pretty knowledgeable when it came to explaining the lights."

She bristled imperceptibly. "That is common knowledge that is taught to the children in our schools. Demography is not a topic taught to children. It is reserved for the people of the Palace, who are the only ones who need worry about such things."

"In other words, you don't have the class status."

Lady Haname seemed very offended. She pouted and turned to watch the passing tunnel walls.

Neal gasped. "Stone! Lay off, would you?"

"Why should I?" Joren snapped. "You were wondering, too. Admit it."

His partner sighed and shrugged apologetically. "Okay, so I was. Sorry, milady. It did seem odd."

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. Eventually, the driver announced their arrival. The carriage came to a full stop at a platform identical to the one they had been traveling in. 

"Good night, milady!" the driver cried happily. As soon as they had disembarked, he closed the carriage door again, hopped on, and sped away into the tunnels.

"Is everyone this cheery?" Joren mumbled.

Neal was starting to get just as fed up with the perfectly pleasant atmosphere. He yawned. "It'd be nice to have a swearing taxi driver. I mean, not that I really want one to be here, but it'd be a change. Then again, you do enough swearing for all the taxi drivers in Tusaine."

"Only because I know it delights you," Joren sardonically replied.

Lady Haname led them up the stairs. When they were back on the streets again, they discovered themselves in a different neighborhood. The blocks were larger than before, with more elaborate houses. Everything was constructed of the same white, diamond speckled stone, but there were sometimes two or three different levels to each home. They were even surprised to see a few fenced-in gardens and water fountains resembling statues of animals.

"This way. My home is that one right over there," she said and began crossing the street to a two-story house with a short wall of stone surrounding it and its garden.

"Plant life. Underground. Well, d'uh," Neal said to Joren as they entered what they guessed was a courtyard to Lady Haname's spacious home. There was even a pond with several koi fish swimming in it.

"We are near the outside barrier. The water system works better in this area, thus allowing those who wish to grow gardens."

"Barrier, huh? Is that some kind of Third Gate?"

Lady Haname laughed as she opened her door with a touch of her hand. Blue swirls of light appeared on the door's surface in the shape of roses before the door swung open. "No. The barrier is a series of small gateways that require less security. It leads outside to the Valley, after all."

Inside Lady Haname's home, the floor was marble and the walls covered with frescoes of nature scenes. Rivers and forests, complete with woodland creatures, were painted with the utmost detail into the plaster on the walls.

Crystals and jewels of all shapes and sizes adorned the walls as well. The delicate looking furniture appeared to be made of polished wood and meticulously crafted metal of all different types of designs. Joren noticed how cushions were places all around a short table. At least the Eastern tradition of kneeling had remained intact in the City that existed outside of Time.

"Do you require any food or drink before I show you to your quarters? Tea perhaps?"

"No. We're fine," Joren answered. Neal looked like he wanted to protest so he could sample the cuisine, but one scathing look from the blond beside him told him to shut up if he wanted to survive the night.

They went up a wide staircase, covered with a plush red carpet. All the place needed was a crystal chandelier on the ceiling of the second floor to make it appear like something out of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous", Neal thought.

It turned out that the chandelier was on the other side of the stairs, which the two men immediately saw when they reached the second floor and turned around. Lady Haname glided past them and down a long hallway. She stopped in front of a door at the end and opened it with a touch of her hand. 

"Do you people not use doorknobs?" Neal frowned.

"Doorknobs are not necessary," the woman laughed softly. She led them inside and touched a transparent glass globe on the green marble dresser. "Touch this to activate the light."

"Aww. For a second there, I was hoping for some Clap-on, Clap-off lights," Neal complained with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"I am sorry that I have only one guest room available. My other guest rooms are being renovated." She gently touched the dresser itself. "You'll find spare clothing and personal items in the drawers. Formal wear is in the wardrobe." She pointed to a wooden door on the opposite side of the room. "The door next to it leads to the wash room. I believe most of the items in there are easy enough to operate without instruction."

"Automatic flushing toilets? Or are those crystal activated, too?"

"Queenscove, _shut up._"

Lady Haname bowed. "If you need help, you may touch the red rose crystal on the wall beside the door. Otherwise, I wish you gentleman pleasant dreams. I will be back in the morning to collect you."

She left the room. The door closed behind her without any push. Neal whooped and plopped down on one of the two beds in the room. Each bed was queen-sized, and covered with green satin coverlets and purple sheets. Neal sat up and tested the bounciness of the bed.

"This is too cool," Neal grinned. "Is yours as bouncy as mine? It's like going to a five star hotel!"

Joren frowned. "Except for the part where pictures of Bambi and his friends cover our walls."

"Maybe it's a personal preference of hers. It's not too bad. I liked Thumper."

"You would," Joren retorted.

 Joren walked around the beds to the bathroom and touched the door. It opened automatically, with a tiny burst of blue light. The light inside the bathroom automatically illuminated, via glowing crystals in the ceiling. The sink, bathtub, and indeed, the _toilet_ were all made of same green marble that made up the dresser.

"Not all that practical. If this stuff chips, its hard to replace." He paused. "Then again, they have millions of things here that aren't practical and seemingly impossible. Why _not_ a marble toilet?"

Neal laughed. "Is it sensor-automatic? Or crystal activated?"

Joren moved in front of the toilet and moved away again. The water inside began to swirl around. "Does that answer your question?" He exited the bathroom. The lights turned off and the door closed by itself behind him. "Let's just change and go to bed. I have to figure out a few things."

"What's there to figure out? We don't know enough and it's not like it'll help us. These people don't want to hurt us. It's like Shinko said. They'll help us, then throw us out."

"Not before they either brainwash us or wipe our memories clean. Don't you see? All the people in this City are annoyingly perfect. They're all happy with whatever job they have—"

"The Gatekeeper might be an exception. He did seem a bit cranky. Or maybe it was the interruption of his nap…"

"Look, this city is a goldmine. More than that, it's every greedy man's dream come true. Did you notice how easily Shinkokami took us in here? Maybe others have come through here, too. So how did the City keep information from leaking out to the free world?" He pointed to the door leading out to the hallway. "They must do something to their visitors."

"What visitors? No one bothers with the Yamanis, Stone. It's been a long standing fact that there are no precious metals to be found, or wildlife, or… anything! Everyone visits the Eastern villages for cultural enlightenment from time to time, but no one actually goes _into_ the mountain range. If it weren't for our mission, we wouldn't even be here!" Neal pulled out a drawer and grabbed a pair of red, soft cotton pajamas and tossed them to his partner. He took out a green pair for himself and closed the drawer again. "Even if they do swipe our memories, who cares? We'll have completed our mission with the help of these people. We'll go home. They wouldn't do us any harm. So what if we can't remember where we were for three or four days?"

Joren began stripping himself of layers. "Do you know why Kel's brother wanted to fly over the mountains in the first place?"

"No." Neal also began to undress. "Is it something important?"

"It must have been. It's as you said, Queenscove. No one bothers with the Yamanis. Until now."

~~

In the morning, Joren and Neal were forced to change into the formal clothing that they found in the wardrobe. During the night, their dirty clothing had been taken and a small piece of parchment left in its place, reading that their clothing was being washed. 

Joren wore a mostly black tunic with red Yamani-styled embroidery covering it. It wasn't silk, but of a plain cotton material that suited him far better than the fancy cloths of the people they had met so far. Actually, all of the clothing in the wardrobe that fit Joren seemed to be of a more simple design. Most of the colors were grays or blacks, with occasional accents of red. He detested the puffiness of his white shirtsleeves, however, and detested his black leather pants even more.

_No matter where I go, someone thinks it's a riot to see me in these ridiculous pants_, Joren thought irritably. He found a pair of black boots that were just his size and put them on. He glanced over at Neal, who was more excited about the clothing selection in his size.

Neal had no qualms wearing a white silk shirt. He wouldn't have ever gone out of his way to purchase something so extravagant, but now that it was available to him, no strings attached, he was all too happy to put it on. He went through numerous garments before selecting a light blue tunic and a matching vest to go over it. He wore dark gray pants and picked a pair of shiny black boots similar to Joren's pair, except that these had silver buckles.

"I need a hat. A hat with a feather. And a cape! And then I'd look just like those guys in the history books. Hey, maybe I could be the next Scarlet Pimpernel." 

"You should really listen to yourself sometimes. It's depressing," Joren remarked. "Besides, you've got the description all wrong. You'd need a fine red brocade jacket, more ruffles on your collar, and—" He stopped short, glared at Neal, and continued to dress.

"And?" Neal smiled widely. "You were saying Stone? Go ahead. You were on a roll."

"Just because I happen to know this thing does not mean anything but that I'm smarter than you are. Now finish dressing, you pansy ass. I want to eat breakfast." He waited beside the door, making sure that his gun was tucked into the sash around his waist. "Why did you choose those things anyway? That's Mithran oriented clothing."

"So you encourage the 'When in Rome' method? Should I look for a… what's it called? Kimono? Yukata?"

"Don't ask me. I never paid attention in World Cultures class," Joren replied.

After a couple of minutes, they opened the door and stepped out into the hallway where Lady Haname was patiently waiting.

"Ah! You look like perfect gentlemen! Nobles, even! Now you are ready to have breakfast with the King."

Joren and Neal traded suspicious glances.

_The King?_

~~

The Second District was bustling with activity during the daytime. Everyone had tasks to perform or chores to complete. It was a wonder that Joren and Neal didn't witness any traffic jam in any of the streets they passed.

They walked behind Lady Haname to a gate at the very edge of the underground haven. She explained that they would pass through a brightly lit tunnel that would lead them straight to the streets of the open-air part of the Second District. The Valley Plains would be just within scenic view.

"And the Palace?" Joren asked as they passed into the large tunnel amongst a crowd of citizens.

"It's on the far end of the district overlooking the rest of the valley. You'll know it when you see it." She smiled. "Look. We're almost there."

They exited the tunnel from a gate whose doors were drawn back to accommodate the many citizens in transit. All of sudden, they could hear a lot more horse whinnies and birds chirping. As soon as they were fully outside, they stopped to take it all in.

The sky bluer than they'd ever seen. It was a shade lighter than robin's eggs, but perfect in complement to the rest of the City. Enishijirou loomed behind them, a giant with mist surrounding its summit. Mist surrounded all the mountains that formed a border around the valley. Joren looked at the snow. Then, he looked down at himself. He wasn't cold at all. It seemed everything was still the same temperature as it had been underground.

"Come along. We can take a carriage from here," Lady Haname said. She walked up to an idle carriage, similar the one they had ridden underground. Horses pulled this one, however. They were beautiful white, well-groomed horses with demure countenances. 

There were less ornamental gems, crystals, and precious metals in the buildings outside. The white stone, however, remained a constant element of all structures. The pagoda-styled roofs were larger than before, each showing more wear and tear on the shingles than its underground counterparts. Of course, the roofs outside actually had to deal with rain and snow, unlike those underground. 

The cobblestones of the streets were a bit smoother than they had been under Enishijirou. They were slightly worn down by the constant trample of feet and hooves. As the DJPF officers rode in the carriage, they seemed to be overwhelmed by the whole new world they had the privilege to see. 

Neal finally frowned and turned to Joren when he saw the Valley Plains in the distance. "Hey. Have you ever read Lost Horizon by James Hilton?"

"No. Why?"

He shook his head and stared out the window again. "No reason. Just… thinking."

"_That_ must be a rare occurrence. A piece of advice: you—thinking too much? Bad for your health. Hell, it's bad for _my_ health."

"You're so encouraging," Neal shot back, rolling his eyes.

The carriage came to a stop. The driver got down from his bench and opened the door, helping Lady Haname step down. Joren and Neal followed, throwing scornful looks at each other. As soon as they were out, they looked up at the castle in front of them.

It was based on a grassy hillside beside the Valley Plains. The gate was forty feet tall and twenty feet wide, shaped in an arch. It was actually an expanded version of the First Gate. Though the outer walls of the castle were made of smooth white stone, the gate was completely made of metal… iron, perhaps, with the enlarged impressions of animals wrought into the surface. Jewels were embedded in the spaces between each animal, glinting in the sun.

A man, dressed in a red tunic similar to the Gatekeeper they had met last night, stood beside the monstrous slab of metal. He held a spear proudly in one hand. He gave Joren the impression of a man well versed with all the techniques of the spear, but also a man who hadn't any opportunity to put those skills to the test.

Lady Haname approached, drawing an ivory fan from her sash and waving it prettily in front of her face. She began to speak with the smiling guard in hushed whispers.

In the meantime, Joren approached the gate. One image stood out from the rest. He slowly reached out to touch the iron surface. He traced the outline of the animal, feeling the raised ridges of the stripes and the bared teeth.

"A tiger," he said quietly.

Neal came up behind him. "Do you like tigers?"

Joren smiled crookedly. "Hate them."

The gate began to rise. Joren withdrew his hand and stepped backward, bumping into Neal. Lady Haname laughed throatily and whispered something else to the guard, who began to blush. She waited until the gate had stopped moving before stepping over the threshold.

"Well! Come along. We don't want to be late. As his breakfast guests, we're the first ones in the castle today."

She added a sway to her hips, which won appreciative looks from the guard, as well as those guards patrolling the battlements above. Absently, Joren wondered why such fortifications were necessary, since the City seemed so isolated and unknown from the whole world. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Lady Haname called to him again. He jogged to catch up with them and followed them into the courtyard.

Cherry blossom trees bloomed throughout the courtyard. A few gardeners milled about, tending to these trees as well as to the other flowers surrounding the white stoned castle. Neal whistled in appreciation.

"Is that a giant flower on the roof?" He pointed upward.

"It is a cherry blossom, not yet in full bloom. And no, it is actually the Stargazer Dome. Perhaps His Majesty will show it to you," Lady Haname answered. "Come now. You're wasting time."

They walked along a stone path through a grove of shorter trees without any flowers and came to a large set of doors. Two more guards stood here. Each had a sword in a scabbard at his waist. They touched the doors and granted the visitors entrance before a single word was spoken.

They entered what appeared to be a ballroom. The expansive room was floored with white marble. On the wall hung paintings of the Eastern style—mountains, nightingales, dragons, and phoenixes. Crystals of different sizes and shapes hung from four chandeliers that hung in a line on the ceiling.

A grand staircase was at the far end. It was twice as wide as Lady Haname's staircase, and sported wooden banisters that had red statues of Eastern lions on each end. A young boy, about the age of thirteen or fourteen, was seated on the third step of the staircase. He was dressed in a dark brown silk tunic over a white shirt. He also wore a white and green sash around his middle. A short blade—a kodachi, Joren identified—hung from his waist. Joren was almost sure that a boy of that age didn't know how to use it.

Two things stood out most from the boy's appearance. Golden slippers adorned the boy's feet, the brightest accessory in comparison with the rest of the drab colors he wore. And also, the boy's hair stood up in short, soft white spikes. 

_White hair._ Joren suppressed a shudder.

Lady Haname bowed from the waist this time, until she formed a ninety-degree angle with her body. She did not raise herself until she had spoken, "Greetings, Prince. We have come to see His Majesty, the King."

The boy, no, the prince stood up and folded his arms over his chest like a petulant brat about to throw a tantrum. "Why should I care?"

Lady Haname lowered her eyes to the floor when she stood erect again. "I apologize. Please, may we know where he is? He is expecting us."

The prince's cheeks reddened. Joren noticed then that his eyes looked familiar. They were an odd shade of blue that he had seen only one other place before.

"Well, why should _I_ tell you? I'd rather—"

"Yahiko! Still that impetuous mouth of yours!" a voice boomed from the top of the staircase.

All eyes darted upwards to the source of the voice. The prince trembled. He glared at Neal and Joren before running upstairs past the man who had spoken. A few seconds later, they could hear a door slam. Apparently, not everything needed to be crystal activated.

Joren stepped forward, trying his best not to bite off his tongue. He ignored Lady Haname's gestures to bow and crossed half of the ballroom before stopping. He put his hands on his hips and snorted mockingly.

"Somehow, I knew you were going to be here. As King, well, no, but at least I knew you were going to be here. You always end up in the places where I don't want to see you… Enishi."

Enishi Yukishiro laughed. He adjusted the round shaded spectacles on the bridge of his nose and descended a few steps lower. "I told you I had connections."

Neal frowned. "Am I… missing something here?"

"You always had to stand out," Joren continued, ignoring his partner. He sneered at the white-haired man before him. "Even in a City where everyone wears priceless gems and gold as if they were dime-store costume jewelry, you don't wear a single bit. _And_ you have the audacity to continue wearing the same Armani suit."

His host pouted. "Now, now. Who said this was Armani? Believe it or not, my private seamstress made this one. The material is much finer anyway. Maybe she should go into the fashion business as well."

Lady Haname was speechless. "Your Majesty! You know this man?"

Enishi eyed the blond man in front of him with a great deal of interest. "That, I do. Oh yes. That, I do."

~~

Author's note: *GASP* Could it be? Has Enishi weaseled his way into another season of ICBW? Aww, and you thought you had been rid of him forever! Well, he was gone for the latter of ten episodes at least. That's something. Eh?

I hoped you enjoyed my lengthy descriptions. I've been crafting this place in my mind for a _long_ time. I wasn't sure how I wanted to blend legend with reality at first. Then I said screw it all, took a few feudal European and feudal Japanese sketches (and every other epic movie I've ever seen involving some Lost City) and blended it all together! Hope I did well…

As you can see, Joren and Neal start to grow more comfortable with each other. This essentially means that their insults come more frequently and more easily than before. Aww. Our widdle Joren-pooh is making friends… No. Not really.

The crystal motif was inspired by this scene in the old movie "Journey to the Center of the Earth". There was a bunch of hot springs and this cheesy movie set where you could tell all the crystals and rocks were so fake—but it always made me smile. The book Lost Horizon by James Hilton was also a great inspiration. The book is about this place called Shangri-La, hidden in the Tibetan mountains. *sighs* Now _that_ had my imagination going. Five years after reading the book, and it still influences the way I see "legendary cities". I dearly recommend it.

I've probably screwed up a lot of terminology and paid very little attention to my many run-on sentences. At this point, I don't care. I'll go back and edit when I have the time. I basically have a month left of summer vacation. You see, I got out from school at the end of May. Seems weird for some you, considering you just got out of school at the end of June. Anyway, I want to diversify the rest of my summer. I can alternate writing with other things. Hopefully.

Also, I broke up with my boyfriend-creature after nine months, thirteen days. Or actually, he broke up with me. The "feeling" wasn't there for him anymore, and everyone knows how unrequited love works. Dang. Oh well. Got over that rather quickly. (Too quickly. Is that bad?) On the plus side, I have more time to write now, rather than hang out with him. On the down side, there's always a part of your heart that dearly remembers that first boyfriend. Yuck. We're friends now. I think we've always worked better that way. Who needs 'im? I've got you people. I've got Caitlin, Jae, Victor, and—egads—LB of all people LB, who never seems to give up on me. LB, the only one who decides when a shindig is going to go down, because let me tell ya… he knows how to throw 'em and how to stir 'em up. Best buddies forever!

Oh! Before I forget! Yahiko is a character from Rurouni Kenshin, just as Enishi was. Yahiko Myoujin sided with the Kenshin-gumi however, and began appearing in perhaps… the third episode while we had to wait quite a few seasons before Enishi could make his wonderful appearance on the side of "evil". Aw, who cares if he was evil? He's still awesome!

Tell me what you think of the episode! Email! Review! I'll be glad to see them all!!!

-Sulia Serafine


	11. Hotshot

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 11: Hotshot     **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… PG-13… MORE drama, MORE revelations, and Joren about to blow his top like a volcano. You _know_ how he gets when he's angry.

~~

"I have breakfast in my conservatory. I don't normally dine there, but I thought you might appreciate the view." Enishi smiled graciously, and gestured toward the stairs behind him. "Please, join me. I would be honored by your presence."

Lady Haname, still bowing deeply, stifled a surprised gasp. "Your Majesty, it is _we_ who should be honored."

"Oh, please don't say that piece of bull while I'm standing here. I'm going to puke," Joren snapped. He glared at the noblewoman. "Come on, Queenscove. Food awaits." With a sigh of resentful resignation, he started toward the stairs. Neal followed, unsure of what else to do, while Lady Haname was still standing in shock.

"I'm still _very_ confused here, Stone."

Joren shrugged. "As you should be."

The two men were nearly at the bottom of the stairs. Enishi nodded. He lifted his hand toward Lady Haname. "Milady, if you wouldn't mind, I'd rather have a conversation alone with our foreign guests. If you go out to the garden again, you will find breakfast there among fellow courtiers."

The woman, still thoroughly stunned, numbly inclined her head toward him and slowly began to exit the ballroom. The two remaining men followed their host up the stairs. They were immediately directed to a large set of cherry wood doors to the left. Joren glanced over his shoulder briefly, just in time to see a door on the opposite side of the staircase slam shut. He smirked.

As they entered the conservatory, they beheld a wonderful sight. The room was filled with an assortment of instruments, each looking as new as if they had just come from the artisan's worktable. Large glass windows took up most of the wall space, allowing for a wide view of the plains. Neal could see numerous domesticated animals grazing in the emerald colored plains while farmers tilled their fenced lands. Winter seemed to have no effect there on the growing of crops. It was the idyllic countryside.

Joren frowned, ignoring the impressive surroundings. "Who was that boy? Your son?"

Enishi raised one eyebrow delicately. "Why? Are you jealous?"

"Can we please not answer questions with questions?"

"Did you notice that you were doing it, too?"

Neal, who was now seated at a small table on a large dais, groaned. "You're both doing it. Let's eat already! Maybe then we could have some explanations and the two of you could tell me what the hell is going on." He paused awkwardly, his nose scrunched up from confusion. "Your Majesty."

The two other men sat down at the table, which was made out of iron wrought into the design of intertwined grapevines. Neal lifted the golden bell shaped-coverings from the white porcelain plates in front of him and stifled a cry of delight when he saw the still-steaming food. He picked up his silver fork and attacked the fresh pastries and fruits in front of him with much gusto. 

Enishi sipped strained orange juice from a crystal champagne glass. He gestured toward Neal. "Is he always like this?"

"I think in the absence of Kennan, he feels obligated to fill the role," Joren said disdainfully. He began eating as well, although he took his time and decided to talk frequently between bites. "So. The white hair runs in the family I suppose?"

"He's my nephew. You have nothing to envy. Yahiko will inherit my throne since his parents are dead, but until then, he will be rebellious and ill tempered." He chuckled. "Actually, the boy reminds me of you."

"Yes," Joren agreed sarcastically. "Because I have tantrums and love bleaching my hair white." He chewed and swallowed a piece of fluffy scrambled eggs. "Seriously. What the hell are you doing here? And what's with that Shinkokami girl and the existence of the City? Because if you tell me it's all magic, I'm going to hurt you."

The white-haired man shrugged. "You have no sense of fantasy and enchantment."

"I hate fairy tales."

"Such a shame, then. You're in one." Enishi put down his glass.

Neal put down his fork and dabbed at his mouth with a soft linen napkin. "What's this about Shinko?"

"Princess Shinkokami is a distant cousin. I leave her branch of the family in charge of the First District. She is… I guess you could say, one of my generals. But she spends her time as a scout on the outside, making sure idiots like you don't find Enishijirou."

"And you are…? I'm sorry, we never got around to formal introductions, Your Majesty," Neal said. The man beside him made goose bumps appear on Neal's flesh. His presence was utterly creeping him out.

Enishi nodded his head slightly. "I'm Enishi Yukishiro. I'm sure you've heard of me."

At that, Neal jumped to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor behind him. He pointed at Enishi in disbelief. "You're him? You're that mafia don from Tusaine? How can _you_ be King?" He held his hands out pleadingly to Joren. "And how can you just _sit_ there beside him when you knew this whole time that _he_ was the guy?!"

"Sit down and eat, Nealan," Joren ordered roughly. He glanced at Enishi skeptically. "You do have to explain yourself in that area, though. Why would King Enishi of the lost Eastern City decide to set up a crime syndicate across the sea?"

Their host leaned back in his chair. "I had a side agenda," he told them casually, as if he were recounting a Sunday picnic. "I was trying to make contact with a prodigal family member. The quickest way to gain power was through that city. I could have found out anything I wanted, done anything I wanted. And so I did." He paused. "I left the country frequently to return here. And I plan to stay here indefinitely now that my base in Tusaine is, for the most part, spoiled by recent events."

"The things you did weren't necessary. They were cruel," Joren remarked.

The king thought for a moment. "I guess you could say that it was also an exercise in power. Power is different here. It's never tested, just known and respected. I wanted to indulge myself for a few years in that kind of power… the one that has to be earned and deserved… before I settled into my old age here. I suppose I went a bit too far."

"You suppose?" Joren hissed. "You've got some nerve—"

"I was also testing my prodigal relative. You see, he was in the crossfire and he couldn't decide which spectrum of life he wanted to be on… good or evil. He chose, finally. And I'm glad I was the cause for it."

Both his guests seemed completely disgusted by the word coming out of his mouth. Joren looked down at his plate, stabbing his food over and over in tiny little thrusts. He shook his head. "If you ever return to Tusaine, I will kill you myself. That's a promise."

Neal edged toward his partner. "Shouldn't we arrest him?"

"And how do you suppose we do that? Hogtie him and drag him out? Roll him down a mountain like a log?" Joren bellowed. "We still need to find Conal and Inness, if you haven't forgotten." He leaned over and stood Neal's chair back up. His face communicated to Neal that Joren was restraining an incredible outburst of fury. Each word he next spoke was laced with an invisible toxin that lingered in the air. "Sit… down… and… _eat_."

Neal reluctantly sat down, taking up his fork again and picking at his food less eagerly than before. He glared at Enishi. "So. Have you seen half a dozen foreigners anywhere? We found their plane, but it's empty."

"What makes you think that they're here? They could be anywhere," Enishi reasoned, motioning to the windows overlooking the mountains past the Valley. "It's a large wilderness."

"Then… you know nothing?" Neal pouted.

Joren scoffed. "He knows something. He always considered himself a god. He has to be omniscient. Or was that just more of your fairy tale bull?"

Enishi shook his head ruefully. "Your belligerence will be the bane of your existence some day." He sighed. He turned toward the windows and began watching the horses running across the Valley. "I believe one of my patrols spotted a group of men being captured by the Black City. It happened perhaps… two weeks ago?"

"Black City?"

"Yes. They are beyond the Valley. Nearer to the coast of the eastern side of the continent."

Neal took a large gulp of orange juice. "Are they some sort of lost city, too?"

The King of Enishijirou shook his head slowly. His eyes remained fixed on his precious kingdom. "No. They are not as pleasant. You must understand… where there is a heaven, there is a hell."

After breakfast was completed, Enishi touched a crystal attached to the bottom of the table. Immediately, three servants entered to clear the table away. They were offered mints on a tiny silver tray by one of the servants. Neal took several and put them into his pocket. He planned to pop them into his mouth as a way of distracting himself from dubious revelations.

"Would you like to hear some music? Or perhaps you would like to see the Stargazer Dome? No, no, not yet. Perhaps tonight when the stars are actually out." The mysterious king led them out of the conservatory again and back to the staircase. "My library is also in this wing of the Palace. I understand that your companion, the old man, is to meet you there in the afternoon."

Neal swished the mint around his mouth nervously. "Aren't we staying with Lady Haname?"

"I would not wish to impose on her any more than necessary. Your things are being transported to the guest suites in the opposite wing." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Since your main goal is to find your friends, I will meet with my advisors and patrols to see what can be done. In the meantime, you are welcome to wander around this area. The servants are everywhere. They'll be glad to offer you any assistance."

Joren balled his hands into fists. "You still have a lot to answer for."

Enishi smiled. "I'm sure I do. But not today." 

He nodded his head toward them and descended down the staircase. The two officers watched him until he had walked the length of the entire ballroom and exited out the front doors. Neal sighed and dug around his pocket. He held out his hand to his partner, shrugging. 

"Want a mint?"

Joren rolled his eyes and turned away. He crossed to the other side of the staircase. The door, which had slammed shut earlier, was half the size of the large conservatory doors. He touched it. Just as all doors in the City, this one flared blue lights in lines swirling on the surface while the door opened by itself. Neal followed Joren inside, continuously rolling around the mints in his mouth to give him something else to think about.

They were now on a second floor balcony of an enormous library. The wide balcony ran in a large oval around the perimeter of the library. Below, numerous bookshelves stood in rows that imitated rays of the sun drawn on paper. The central area had a large round table in it as well as several red velvet chairs. Numerous contraptions also sat on the shelves, beside the books that described what they did. Neal snatched his hand back from a sharp metallic looking bird that repeatedly dipped its head. 

"That seems familiar," he grumbled.

Joren didn't notice. The blond ran his hands along the bright brass railing as he walked toward the suspended spiral staircase. The narrow staircase seemed to be supported by thin pieces of metal. Joren wondered how it could be considered secure.

Neal followed far behind. His eyes roamed over the multitude of books and shelves. He glanced above him. "Hey, there's another level of books. Whoa. Look on the ceiling. That's gorgeous!"

Hearing his partner's exclamation, Joren looked up. On the ceiling was another fresco. This one depicted the entire valley. Joren looked to the left of him at the large curtained windows. The view from the second floor was the same exact one on the ceiling. In fact, it was almost a mirror image.

He went down the staircase, surprised at its sturdiness. As soon as he was on the first floor, he strode towards the bookshelves. He observed that on the side opposite of the windows, there were small doors. Perhaps the library was bigger than they thought it was. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

_Something doesn't feel right._

"Ow!" Joren hissed, touching his neck. A small projectile had struck him from behind. He looked at his fingers. A reddish paste covered his fingertips. He held it in front of his nose. "Berries?"

Another one whizzed past his face and struck the floor. Joren turned around instinctively and jumped, dragging his assailant down from the top of the heavy bookshelf. He held his attacker by the collar, shaking him vigorously. A slingshot clattered to the floor.

"What's going on?" Neal yelled from above. He ran down the spiral steps and skidded to a stop in the center of the room.

Joren glared at the person he held. The boy's feet dangled at least a foot and a half off the floor. 

"Let me go! Let me go!" the boy struggled, trying to loosen Joren's iron grip from him. He growled threateningly and kicked his legs. Joren dodged the small attempts and set him on the floor. "Let me go!"

"No, not until you stop acting like a brat," the former operative warned. The boy seemed to think better of it and calmed down. He lowered his chin to his chest so that his captor only saw the soft locks of white hair. Joren released him. "You're Yahiko, aren't you? The prince?"

"Yeah," Yahiko replied quietly, toeing the floor with his shoe. 

Neal heard their voices and ran towards them. "Hey! What's going on?"

"Nothing," Joren told him. "Just a kid with nothing to do."

Neal picked up the slingshot. "Hey, cool. I used to have one of these. Earned me many detentions."

Yahiko snatched it from him and stuffed it into his tunic. "I'm not supposed to have it. Are you going to tell on me?"

"No, of course not," Neal answered. He'd had extensive experience with kids while working in his father's clinic. While parents went in for appointments, Neal had to watch over the children and keep them entertained. He could easily relate to them. He ruffled the boy's hair. "Hey, maybe I could show you a thing or two with a few targets."

"Queenscove," Joren snarled.

"Or not," Neal amended, chuckling anxiously.

The blond officer pointed toward the kodachi that still hung at Yahiko's side. "Aren't you a little young to have weapons?"

Yahiko shrugged shyly. "It's a miniature bokken. I have several bigger ones. I'm still learning, so I can only have wooden practice swords." He timidly gestured to Joren's waist. "What's that?"

Joren touched his hip. He drew his gun from the sash that held it in place. "This is a gun—one of the Desert Eagle models, to be exact."

Neal snorted. "As if he knows what that is." He tapped his chin. "Hey, does your kingdom here have guns?"

The prince shook his head. "Not really." He hesitated. "Well, there are _some_. Uncle keeps them in the restricted part of the armory. He said that they're to be used as a last resort. He doesn't want them to corrupt our faith in crossbows or anything." The prince stuck out his lower lip in an adorable pout. "It's not like we've ever been attacked. The Black City isn't better off than we are. They have less weapons than we do."

"Is that so?" Joren murmured thoughtfully.

"Yeah!" Yahiko nodded, gaining confidence. "And besides, guns don't work in the Valley. Not unless they're tampered with by Uncle. Magical wards, or something."

Both men looked to each other with wide eyes. Joren looked down at the weapon in his hand. "So _that's_ why she let me keep my gun. That bitch."

"He said witch," Neal quickly told Yahiko. "Unless, of course, there are actual witches here." He paused and forced himself to laugh. "And if that's the case, he said stitch. Okay?" He glared at Joren, silently mouthing toward his partner to not curse in front of the boy.

"Forget it." Joren tucked the gun back into his sash. "So if it doesn't work, let's see this armory. I'm not going to walk around this place without something to defend myself with."

Yahiko nodded. "Follow me."

They walked behind Yahiko as the boy led them out of the library and into another wing of the Palace. Neal turned to Joren. "I didn't know you could handle a sword."

"I can, if the circumstances call for it. But I'm not just getting a sword," he whispered, patting his side where his gun was.

"Oh," was all that Neal could say.

~~

Keladry squinted. She stood up immediately from the opening of her tent and began shouting, waving her arms to the troupe of hikers she saw in the distance. "Hey! Over here! Come over here!"

Cleon crawled out of his tent, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Stop shouting, Kel. You're going to bring down the mountains around us."

She ignored him and stumbled through the snow, picking up her feet high so she wouldn't get stuck. The people on the top of the ridge began to descend toward the camp. Keladry slowly advanced toward them as well, so that they met halfway. There were several men and women, carrying various bags and equipment. An older man, the leader, came up to Keladry and greeted her.

"Hello," Keladry replied, glad that they spoke the same language. "I'm looking for some friends of mine. Um, Joren Stone and Neal Queenscove?"

The man nodded. "Yes, they employed us to come with them into these mountains."

She gasped and looked from face to face. "They did? But, where are they? Why aren't they with you?"

"We located the missing plane, but it was empty. The two men and the head guide decided to continue, but they sent us back."

Cleon and Faleron, now properly dressed, joined them on the slope. Faleron rubbed his hands together for warmth. "So, you're telling me that they're out there, by themselves? They're still looking for the people who were in the plane?"

"Yes."

Keladry tried to think of why Joren would do such a thing. Her arms hung limply by her side, overcome by a strange despair. _He wants to please you,_ she thought to herself. _He knows how much your brothers mean to you, so he won't give up. Even when he knows it's hopeless._

Faleron shrugged slightly. "Do you… have a map that you can give us? Show us which direction that they went?"

One of the women came forward, rummaging through her pockets for a spare compass and a map. She unfolded the map and showed it to them, pointing at their current location, and a drawn line indicating where they had traveled. Faleron took it and thanked her.

"We must continue after them, then. We have to bring them back," Keladry said determinedly. She turned to her companions. "Let's pack up. We have to use as much daylight as we can."

"Miss, would you like any of us to accompany you?" the leader asked. His eyes were filled with concern.

She pressed her lips together in uncertainty. After a moment, she shook her head. "No, no. You've all been out here long enough. Go home. We'll go on by ourselves."

And so, they bid goodbye to the returning search party and continued on their own. Faleron had voiced his complaints quite freely in the beginning before he noticed what sort of effect they had on Keladry. She was growing more despondent with each day. Even Cleon was having a difficult time keeping all their spirits up.

After a few days, Keladry called for a rest. The three friends sat down on a part of the slope that leveled out due to some rocks. Faleron handed out bits of food and thermoses of heated water. They ate their lunch quietly, not really having anything in mind to talk about.

"Cheeseburger," Cleon said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Faleron creased his brow with a look of bewilderment. "What?"

"I was thinking. I'd really like a cheeseburger just now," the redhead spoke.

Narrowing his eyes in slight annoyance, Faleron gave his friend a slight shove in the shoulder. Unexpectedly, Cleon cried out, threw his hands up in the air, and fell backward. He started falling end over end down the slope, unable to stop. Keladry and Faleron both shrieked in surprise, abandoned their things, and scrambled down after him. They slid on their bottoms most of the way down before getting to their feet.

Cleon finally came to a stop, heels over his head as he lied upside down on the steeper slope. He groaned, spitting out some snow from his face. He swatted more snow off his clothes, but when trying to sit up, couldn't, and collapsed back down again.

"Faleron!" Keladry chided as they came closer.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Faleron yelled over her scolding. He reached Cleon first and shook his shoulder. "I am _so_ sorry! I didn't think you were going to fall over like that… like…" he couldn't help but snort with laughter, "like Humpty Dumpty!" He began snickering uncontrollably.

Keladry couldn't help it. Seeing that the sharpshooter wasn't hurt, she, too, gave in to mirth.

Cleon's dizziness eventually drained from him. He sat up, slugging Faleron hard in the shoulder. He pouted, his cheeks red with embarrassment rather than cold. "Well, thanks a lot."

"Come on. Let's go back up," Keladry said. She stood up and held out her hand for him to take.

As Cleon struggled to get to his feet, Faleron noticed something where he had been lying. The former thief picked it up and held it a few inches from his eyes.

"I hate to disappoint you, but you broke your glasses." He read the brand name label. "Hmm. This is a brand that usually sells cheap. But it's good quality. What a bargain, Kennan. I'm impressed."

"Dude, I didn't bring any sunglasses," the redhead replied.

Keladry, who had been helping Cleon dust himself off, leaned over and took the broken sunglasses from Faleron. She inspected them, turning it over in her hands. She shuddered. "These… these are Joren's sunglasses."

"Are they?" Faleron stood up and peered at the object.

"Good quality at a cheap price? Sounds just like him," Keladry said, the corner of her mouth lifting into an ironic smile. "So what does it mean? Are we close?"

Faleron looked around. "They were days ahead of us. There are no tracks to follow. He could have dropped them or accidentally stepped on them."

"Or tumbled down the slope," Cleon added, shooting a glare at his best friend.

"I said sorry."

Before anyone could offer any more suggestions on the origin of the broken sunglasses, they heard a shout from nearby. The three companions looked up, half hoping that they had just heard Neal or Joren calling out to them. What they got, was a group of six men, dressed in skins and furs. They held spears and hempen nets in every hand. 

"Um. Hello there!" Cleon called out experimentally.

The man in front pointed his spear and hollered, "Capture them!"

The three looked at each other in alarm. They simultaneously broke apart and began to run. 

"Evasive maneuvers! Evasive maneuvers!" Keladry shouted. She didn't run in a straight path, but began running in curving lines. The nets that were thrown at her missed because of it.

"I'm a civilian, Kel! What the _hell_ are evasive maneuvers?!" Faleron yelled back at the top of his lungs. He suddenly landed flat on his face. He glanced at his feet and discovered that a sling with lead weights had wrapped itself around his ankles, preventing him from running. He tried very quickly to untangle himself, but before he could, the men were upon him.

Keladry watched from a short distance as they began to tie him up. She was proud to see that he struggled as hard as he could. Finally, one of the men knocked him out with the butt end of his spear.

"No!" she screamed. She wished she had a weapon on her. Keladry dropped to her knees and felt around for rocks she could throw. Then, she remembered the one weapon she had brought with her on the trip.

She reached into her boot and felt for the thick metal stick that was her collapsible energy glaive. She fumbled with it. Her gloves were still on, inhibiting her fingers to push down on the very slim button as hard as she needed to. Keladry cursed as she threw her gloves off.

"Oh no you don't!" a man's gruff voice shouted. Keladry looked up just before her world went black.

As they began to tie her up as well, a shot was fired into the air. Cleon, the only one who had managed to run far enough, now had his nine-millimeter Glock out. He breathed heavily, pointing it at the closest man to him. He shot the spear out of the man's hands, eliciting numerous gasps among the group.

They all dropped their spears and their nets at once. They spoke in strange sounding tongues, a language that Cleon couldn't understand. They dropped their captives as well and seemed to be afraid of what he else he could do.

Cleon began to grin. "Finally. Something works out my way."

~~

Joren hefted the katana in his right hand, judging its balance and weight. He switched to his left hand carefully, and finally held it in both. He'd taken extracurricular classes in swordsmanship at the Academy for a short time. Now, he was most likely to be incredibly rusty. Especially with an Eastern sword. 

"We have some Mithran styled swords here, if you would like," Yahiko proposed. "Straight edges. Bejeweled pommels. They are from Great, Great Grandfather's collection."

Neal whistled. He was walking back and forth from row to row. The armory was the size of a gymnasium, with every weapon imaginable from every country—in abundant quantities. He stopped in front of a row of throwing knives. On the very end, he saw small black bags of pouches. He picked one up and began untying the cords as he approached the prince.

"Hey, Your Highness, what are these?"

Yahiko turned to him and grinned. "Lead pellets. For slingshots."

Impressed, Neal pocketed one. "Ah. So I can go all David-and-Goliath on somebody's hinny, huh? Care to show me where the slingshots are?"

Joren sighed. "Would you mind being mature and picking out a real weapon?"

"Some of us were trained to use a standard issue gun, not Excalibur," Neal called out saucily. He began studying the number of slingshots Yahiko had laid out on the workman's table. "Besides. I thought you already snuck out some, uh, _stuff_ for us."

"If 'stuff' is the code word for several handguns and a dozen magazines, then yes, I have _stuff_," Joren retorted. "Go pick out a short sword at least. A kodachi, like His Highness has."

"It's a practice sword," Yahiko protested, slightly blushing. He motioned for Neal to follow him. "But I will show you where the real ones are."

"Hey! Could I get a quarterstaff, too? I was good at those when I was at the Academy!"

"A slingshot and a stick. How wonderful," Joren muttered.

The prince was eager to help once he had gotten over his initial hostility to the two men. He admitted that he was bored most of the time in the Palace. He was forced by tradition to take numerous lessons in things he could never imagine using as an adult. Mostly everyone treated him as a person on a pedestal that they were not worthy to touch, so he could never gain any true friends.

The only thing that Yahiko did enjoy was his weapon training. He loved handling the weapons that had been in his family for generations. It gave him a sense of excitement. He often wished for an adventure to alleviate his banal life. It had been decades, he told them, since any foreigners were allowed into the City, let alone the Palace.

"Decades?" Joren echoed. 

Yahiko shrugged. "Yeah. Thirty years ago. I remember, I was playing outside—" He stopped suddenly, dropped the kodachi scabbard he had been holding, and put both hands over his open mouth. "I mean…"

Neal picked up the scabbard and sheathed the small sword inside it. Joren crossed the number of rows it took to get to them and cornered the Crown Prince with a vicious glare.

"What do you mean… _you remember_?" Joren asked slowly. "You said it was thirty years ago. You're only thirteen."

"I didn't say anything," the boy protested. "Really I didn't!"

Neal shook his head. "No, I heard quite clearly, buddy. You said 'Thirty years ago.' You were playing outside."

The boy looked positively mortified at the words that had slipped out of his mouth. He shamefully sunk to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. He murmured sorrowfully, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

Neal crouched beside him and rested a comforting hand on the prince's shoulder. "Your Highness, please answer this one thing: are you thirteen, or fourteen—or whatever age it is that you look like?"

"No," the boy confessed. "I'm probably older than both of you combined."

Joren backed away. He wandered toward a lit crystal on the wall. He placed both hands on either side of it and stared down at his feet. "I knew it," he whispered. "I knew it. That bullet… When I shot that bastard and he just stood there bleeding like it hadn't happened…"

"What?" Neal looked up.

"Nothing." He moved away from the wall and stood beside the other two. "I'm not even going to ask any more about this biological impossibility. I'll just mind my own business and concentrate on rescuing Kel's brothers."

"Yahiko!" a familiar male voice shouted from a few rows over. "Were you in the restricted section? Your uncle told you that those guns were off-limits—" the speaker stopped at the beginning of their row, staring quietly at the three males in front of him.

Neal stood up and tapped Joren's shoulder.

"Okay. First the mafia don, then Kel's _ex-boyfriend_? I'm sorry, but I feel like I should expect Elvis any second now."

Liam Irons ignored Neal's rambling. Instead, he focused on the blond man that was also returning his attention. Without an inflection in voice to show any sort of emotion, he said, "Yahiko, go to your room."

The boy stood up, clenching his fists. "I don't have to listen to you! I'm the prince! And as far as you're concerned, you are not allowed to address me in such a familiar way! 'Your Majesty' or—"

"_Yahiko!_" Liam interrupted, bellowing as loudly as he could. He took a deep breath. "I have the complete confidence of your uncle. He entrusts me with many duties and responsibilities. If I tell you to go to your room, then go."

The prince bravely stood his ground, though he was trembling all over. "No!"

"Then just shut up and let me deal with this!"

Joren stepped in front of Yahiko. "Don't yell at him. Talk to me. I took the guns from the restricted section. I'm not all that familiar with a sword, as you already know."

Liam ground his teeth irritably. "I have come straight from a meeting with His Majesty and his advisors. I and several other seasoned warriors will take you and Mr. Queenscove to the Black City to rescue your friends."

"I want to go, too!" Yahiko exclaimed.

"You're the Heir, Yahiko. You can't go. And didn't I just tell you to shut up?"

The boy cowered behind Joren. Neal spoke up. "I'm sorry… So," he tried to make sense of the chaos around him. "You work for Enishi?"

"He's always worked for him," Joren corrected.

The older officer threw up his arms in the air as a sign of exasperation. "Why doesn't anyone _tell_ me these things? I was there, people! I was there the whole entire time, helping to bring down the bad guys! I comforted Kel in her time of need, I put up with _your_ stupid mood swings… I'm feeling very under-appreciated here."

"I appreciate you, Mr. Queenscove," Yahiko piped up, hoping to be of some help.

Neal sighed and patted Yahiko on the back. "At least someone does." He glanced back and forth between the two men that were still glaring daggers at each other. "Come on. Why don't we go outside and practice with these slingshots? We'll leave these two to talk."

He ushered Yahiko past Liam, who made no move to stop them. As soon as he and Joren were alone, he moved a few steps closer until they were arms' length away. The two men were silent for a long time, never having broken eye contact. Finally, Joren let his eyes stray to the light crystals overhead.

"It's her brothers that we're rescuing."

"I see."

"Feel motivated now?"

"Maybe."

There was another period of silence. Liam spoke.

"How is she?"

"Good, good. Better, at least."

Liam nodded. There was a pause of about two minutes this time.

"He still talks about you."

Joren raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"

"Always has, always will."

"Jealous?"

"What do you think?" he snapped. "They both like you better."

"Too bad we can't switch places then, hmm?"

"You're lucky that I don't let petty feelings get in the way of my duties."

"Yeah," Joren muttered scornfully. "I'm just _so_ damn lucky."

~~

Author's note: No! Can it be? LIAM is back, too? Egads, maybe I _will_ have Elvis make a cameo after all. Hmm. This one wasn't too long. I'm more concerned about getting episodes out while I still have the time, but don't worry! I will still strive for the best quality I can give!

Hope you enjoyed the confrontation between Liam and Joren. Those two are like brothers—fighting and arguing and glaring each other into the ground. Heheh. 

Oh! And believe it or not, I used all those Japanese weapon terms from memory—when I still had the time, I was a huge anime buff. Especially the samurai ones, so I used to be quite well versed with the weapon terminology. It's not so confusing once you find a guide online and start looking it up. Takes just a few seconds, trust me.

Yes, Neal is quite good with a quarterstaff, if you remember from the Academy flashback in Season 2. It was A Letter To You Part II, I think. He even inspired Kel to take up a pole arm. Wow. Imagine that.

-Sulia Serafine

P.S. Isn't Yahiko just so adorable? Cool dude, I tell ya. And for those of you who aren't familiar with his original character: his hair is normally black. His eyes are dark brown. ENISHI, who hasn't appeared yet in English dubbed episodes released here in the U.S., is—as far as I know—only in the manga comic, in one of the *much* later arcs, or seasons. Someone asked about that in a review. Well, Enishi's real hair is white. His appearance is really the same way as I first described him. Feel free to type their names into search engines! You'll find a whole lot more than you think. 


	12. Long Live the King

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 12: Long Live the King           **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: Let's say… borderline PG-13/R… Why? Because there's a little bit of everything, all wrapped into one. Wah. I'm pretty sure I just quoted a song and I don't know which. *frown* Anyway, there are some dark tones to the episode at the very in. Nothing obscene, just slightly creepy. That's what the R rating is for, just in case someone gets too spooked.

~~

Since they arrival at the Palace, Joren and Neal took it upon themselves to practice with their weapons of choice whenever they had a spare chance. They had no idea how difficult their enemies would be. Yahiko's instructors helped them train without protest. He had adamantly demanded their help. And if there was one thing about being a prince that Yahiko didn't mind, it was always getting whatever he wanted. The prince adored both foreigners without question. But they still considered him a child, despite his true age, and were hesitant to reveal too much of their plans to him.

Two other warriors were chosen to go to the Black City. The first was a man named Borealize [Author's note on pronunciation: bohr-ee-ah-leez] who was of a very distant relation to the royal family. He had dark brown hair cropped above his ears and had astoundingly bright blue eyes, a sign of his bloodline. He was perhaps as tall as Faleron, but stockier and more reserved. It was also hinted that he was of partial western origin, but that he was a closer relation to Shinkokami than to the pure royal line. When Neal heard of this, he warmed up rather considerably to the warrior. He even visited Borealize in his home in hopes to hear more about Shinkokami herself.

The second was a man named Selirithel. He appeared to the two DJPF officers as a tall willowy man that glided across a room like a shadow. His cloak was midnight black. The hood covered his head, barely allowing them to see a few long strands of silver white hair. Looking into his deathly pale face was like staring into death itself, they mutually decided. Even his coal black eyes seemed to absorb light so that the room dimmed whenever he entered. It was rumored that Selirithel had been in a branch of the royal family that had suffered disgrace by producing a number of half western bastards, Selirithel included, but Enishi had pardoned him for reasons unknown.

Liam remained aloof during those days of preparation. He never strayed too far from his master's side, but didn't engage in any conversation with the king himself. He seemed to be angry with Enishi and didn't know how to properly show it. He threw Joren and Neal as many dirty looks as he could, and often snapped at Yahiko if the prince came within close range.

Imrah had been duly compensated for his troubles. While at the Palace, he had been given small gifts of silks and incense. For some reason, however, Joren and Neal had not been permitted to see him after that first day in the library. Yahiko later told them that the guide had been in private conference with the king before being escorted back to the outpost by Shinkokami.

Joren had his suspicions. In the pre-dawn of the day they were supposed to leave, he sat with Neal in the garden. He was perched on top of nine feet tall arch made out of white, diamond-flecked stone that and stretched over a gate while Neal sat atop a shorter wall that divided the garden into its many different sections. It had been an unspoken fact that they could only trust each other in this strange new land hidden in the mist. And so, they were prone to seek each other out for company, whether the other wanted it or not.

"Do you think they brainwashed Imrah before they let him go?" Neal asked quietly. He had drawn his knees to his chest, idly fingering the slingshot that was stuck into his belt. He looked up at the dark silhouette of his partner against the pink and purple colored sky. It would be half an hour yet before sunrise.

The blond sat precariously on top the foot-wide arch with one leg tucked underneath him and the other swinging freely in the air. He shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me. But then, I don't care anymore. That's not our focus."

"I still have a lot of questions to ask, but Yahiko seems scared to say anything."

"I have questions, too. There's no use in asking them, though. They're not so important anymore."

Neal frowned, deeply troubled. "I've been thinking about the cultural make-up of the City. In such an isolated place, after a few centuries, wouldn't you be worried about inbreeding? I'm sure they've taken that into consideration. So maybe every now and then, they take in some foreigners. New blood. Whether they're travelers or treasure hunters… they forget all about their homes and stay blissfully ignorant here."

"They don't forget. Whatever this City does to them, it keeps their memories," Joren replied. "Think of Gatekeeper. He remembered where he came from. The only change… was his desire. He no longer desired worldly things. He only desired the lot that was cast to him and no more, no less."

"What about the lifespan of these people? Is it just the royal family, or does it apply to everyone here?"

"Something's in the water," Joren mused, a smirk threatening to appear on his face.

His partner cracked a smile. "I probably wouldn't enjoy it anyway. Look at Yahiko. He's been a kid for at least forty years. I wouldn't be able to _stand_ being on the verge of puberty that long. I'd probably have apoplectic fits."

After that, they remained quiet for several minutes. The darkness in the sky was beginning to recede. Underground, the crystals would slowly come to life again one by one. A new day was beginning and the City would become a vibrant, bustling collection of wonders once again.

Joren stretched out both of his legs before jumping off the arch and landing in a crouch on the ground. He raised his arm over his head and caught the sword and scabbard that Neal tossed down to him. Securing it to his belt again, he also waited for Neal to jump down from the wall and land beside him. His partner grabbed his steel reinforced quarterstaff, tampered with magic so as to be extremely lighter in weight, from the wall that it leaned against. 

The two men watched the horizon a bit longer. They could barely see it over the tall leafy hedges of the garden, but there it was: a sliver of yellow and orange light that would soon guide their way east to the Black City.

"We're never going to see a sunrise quite like that again," Neal said softly.

Joren nodded. "We have other things to think about, our priorities."

"Of course."

"It's not going to be a glorious, history-making rescue."

"I didn't expect it to be."

"We're more likely to be miserable than triumphant."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Joren turned his gaze away from the dawn and studied his partner. Neal had toned down his attitude tremendously since their arrival at the Palace. It surprised him how mature the infamous flirt could be. A shadow passed over Neal's face from a bird flying above. The distraction caused him to face his partner. His green eyes met Joren's blue ones. The bright, grassy color had faded somewhat. After a moment's consideration, Joren held out his bare hand to him.

Neal hid any reaction of surprise, but accepted it and closed his own hand firmly around Joren's. 

As dawn came, they went to the eastern side of the Palace that bordered the Valley Plains. Waiting for them were five mounts, wolves even larger than the ones that Shinkokami had summoned. The five beasts lay down on their bellies, chewing raw meat and sometimes snapping their jaws at each other for pieces. Neal took the time to walk in front of them, trying to pick out the least dangerous one. He finally selected a white juvenile male with one golden eye and one gray eye.

Enishi, Yahiko, and several of his advisors came to see them off. Liam did not bid farewell to either the king or the prince. Instead, he focused on taking inventory of everyone's supplies and packs while reinforcing the lightening wards that would alleviate the wolves' burdens. He did not bother to glance at either Joren or Neal, but spoke instructions to Borealize and Selirithel as if they were the only other men in the party.

Yahiko ran up to Neal, a war of emotions flickering across his face. The tall officer ruffled the boy's soft white hair and smiled. 

"I want to go with you there, where all the adventure is."

"It's not what you think it is," Neal told him gently. "There's no fun, no glory. It's just a dirty job." He cuffed him lightly in the shoulder. "Work hard and listen to your uncle. I'll do some target practice with you when I get back, okay?"

The prince's eyes lit up. "Promise?"

"Promise," Neal nodded. He faltered a bit when the boy took it as a cue to throw his arms around Neal's waist and give him a hug. When Yahiko released him, Neal crouched to the prince's level and whispered, "Now, do me a favor?"

"Sure!"

"Put in a good word for me with your cousin Shinko, okay?"

Yahiko pouted. "No offense, but you have better luck attracting a milk cow."

They both looked up when they heard Joren masking his laughter with coughing a few feet away. Neal straightened up and imitated a superior pose. Only partially offended, he grumbled.  "Yeah, who needs any of you?"

While the three were gathered at the mounts, Enishi approached Liam. Not until the fifth time that the king cleared his throat did the man turn around and face him.

"You forget your duties."

Liam lifted his chin higher in a show of defiance. "On the contrary. I remember my duties just fine."

"Then stop acting like a brat," Enishi hissed only loud enough for him to hear. He stepped closer to Liam, his eyes burning with a wildfire that Liam had seen only once before. "When his business is done here, he will go home. And I will not pursue his loyalty any longer."

"Do whatever you want," Liam replied, as if acid dripped from his tongue. "I am merely servant, not son. I am not of the original blood, nor do I care to be."

"I could put you back in the gutter where I found you, flies buzzing around your gray flesh."

"It would be a welcome gesture," the younger man snarled before picking up his pack and stalking away.

Time came for the five men to mount up and depart. Neal and Yahiko waved enthusiastically at each other while the others bowed their heads courteously. Joren caught Enishi's eye and glared at the king, turning his head away and goading his mount to move to the rear of the pack. With a sharply yelled command from Liam, the five wolves bounded away into the Plains, following a path that would eventually lead them out of the Valley and into the colder region beyond.

~~

Nearly a week later, Keladry woke up groggily to find herself in a holding cell. The cell seemed to be carved out of the side of cave, leaving only an opening on one side where iron bars stretched vertically to prevent her escape. Despite that, she found amenities such as a bed covered with soft quilts, a small table and chair, and a curtain in the corner from behind which she found a chamber pot.

Across the way from her, she saw Faleron in a similar cell, though he was still fast asleep. Keladry got out of bed. Most of her layers had been stripped off and hung on the back of the chair. She now reached for a jacket and put it on. The floor was cold on her sock-covered feet. She glanced around for her shoes and eventually located them underneath the bed.

Dressed, she tentatively touched the bars. Keladry half-expected them to give her an electric shock, like she'd seen other prisons have. Assured of their harmlessness, she leaned against them and decided to wake her companion up.

"Psst. Faleron! Faleron, wake up!"

The young man groaned and moved slightly. She called to him again. On her third try, he opened his eyes sleepily. Yawning, Faleron sat up and looked over his shoulder to see her.

"Officer? What are we doing here? What happened?" He rubbed his eyes. "The last thing I remember is being captured by those wretched mountain men."

She pressed her face against the bars and strained to see anything else outside their cells. "I don't know. That's the last thing I remember, too. I've felt like I've been asleep for a decade."

Faleron did as Keladry and dressed himself. He rubbed the back of his head where he had been struck with the spear. "Me, too. Hey! Where's Kennan? Isn't he here?"

That detail had gone unnoticed by Keladry. Now she frowned, shaking her head. She hadn't thought at all of Cleon since she woke up. It made her feel slightly guilty that his welfare hadn't been the first to spring to her mind. Keladry began inspecting her cell. She felt around the pockets of her other parka and was pleased to discover her energy glaive. Perhaps the hunters had thought it was just a silly useless metal cylinder.

She pressed the button that extended it, smiling inwardly as the pole arm extended. She pressed another unnoticeable button and suddenly, a bright lime green flame burst into illumination at the end of the glaive. She slashed forward with great ease. It was fluidity in the motion that she had missed dearly. The iron bars made many sharp clangs on the floor as they dropped.

She cautiously stepped outside of her holding cell and looked both ways down the hall. All the other cells were empty. The doors at the far end of the hall did not open. She nodded to Faleron. "Step back."

Faleron pressed himself against the far wall and held an arm over his face to protect himself from any sparks. Keladry lashed out again, in two broad sweeps of her glaive to take out another dozen or so bars. She jumped back reflexively as the bars came clattering to the ground.

"Get your stuff. We have to find Cleon as soon as possible."

The two gathered their belongings quickly. Keladry extinguished the flare at the end of her glaive, but kept her hand near the button should she need it. They moved toward the doors slowly, still unsure if anyone was monitoring them. It seemed very abnormal to leave prisoners unguarded. But then again, they had been in some sort of drugged sleep for a week.

Keladry tested the doorknob, which was surprisingly western in style. There was even an oval shaped hole for a key underneath. She turned to Faleron. "It's locked. Can you pick it?"

By the look on his face, she knew that it was not something the he liked being asked of him. Since the incident and Galla and his reformed life working for Daine, Faleron had not preferred to use any of his old skills. Even little favors asked by his friends brought on a tinge of pain somewhere deep inside. He hid it well, most of the time, but every now and then he slipped, showing how he truly felt about the subject.

Keladry began examining the keyhole herself. "It's all right if you don't want to. I can try—"

"No," Faleron interrupted instantly. "No, I'll do it. It's fine." He knelt down in front of keyhole and studied it. He patted his sides. "I don't have any tools, though." He eyed her glaive. "That thing slices through metal like a hot knife and butter, right?"

She shrugged. "If I adjust it to do so."

"Can you minimize the flare into a fine thin flame?"

She seemed confused by his request, but collapsed the pole back to its thick cylinder shape and started to match his description. After twisting parts and fiddling with almost microscopic shaped buttons on the ends, a tiny needle-like green flame appeared. She showed it to him for approval.

"Can't we just melt the whole thing or force the door?"

Faleron was still peering at the exterior of the lock. He then put his ear to the door and knocked softly. He repeated this process in several other places.

"No. The door is too heavy to force and the bolt is not going to move by melting the entire thing." He took the collapsed glaive from her and retreated to the part of hall where the iron bars lay. He bent over the pieces and began cutting tiny strips. He put on his gloves and began bending the tips while they were still warm. The former thief worked silently until he was satisfied.

Keladry watched in fascination. It was easy to tell that he was in his element. He worked deftly with his hands, quickly creating a crude set of tools. Faleron returned to the door and handed back the glaive.

He used a pick with a tiny hook at the end to survey the inside of the lock. He pressed his ear close, listening for something that she could never hear if she were in his position. He rocked back on his haunches, tapping his chin deep in thought before selecting a pick and a plain strip of metal and resumed his work.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say these people have been making locks far longer than any other culture ever has," he muttered irritably. "There are two many pins. What kind of bloody piece of…" He emitted a growl of frustration before leaning his ear even closer to the lock. His hands moved slowly now, as if any slight movement could undo all his work.

Finally, he twisted his tools inside the keyhole, turned the knob, and slowly pushed the door open. He gathered his tools and placed each of them into random pockets, some even tucked into the waistband of his pants. Keladry watched him stretching his legs.

"Why do you do that? Put the picks there?"

"If they search me, I might get lucky and keep a few. Though I'd rather not," he explained absently. He motioned her ahead of him, still having two tinier picks to hide among his person. Something told her that she didn't want to see where he hid them.

Exiting their prison, they were surprised to find no guards in the large hall outside. It was incredibly dim. Sconces on the wall held torches. They had the choice of going either left or right and finally decided to go right. Keladry made note of the directions they took as they made their way stealthily through the alien place.

They turned a corner. Both stopped where they were, apprehensive of moving another inch. Two men dressed in black armor stood on either side of a large set of iron doors. Each held a double-headed war axe that was mounted on four-feet long pole arm. The two dark bearded men glowered at the newcomers.

Faleron reacted first, as he always did, bowing his head respectfully to them. He took a deep breath and smiled charmingly. "Hello, gentlemen! I am the western ambassador Valdric Dellion Senestine and this is my bodyguard…" he glanced at Keladry distractedly, "Tula. We're being expected, so if you wouldn't mind…"

Keladry nodded blankly, although she wondered what could have possessed him to act. Perhaps one of his many talents was also being a con artist. She doubted, however, that this would fool the guards in front of them.

The two men bowed respectfully and began to open the doors. Their chain mail and armor made a mess of noises as the guards moved their limbs.

"He's been expecting you," one of them said in a deep voice.

Faleron dared not show his delightful surprise. He turned to Keladry and beamed triumphantly. "You heard them, Tula! Onward we go!"

He marched forward confidently. Keladry rolled her eyes and followed, still keeping a wary eye on the two men as they swung open the doors to grant them entrance. If Faleron felt any discomfort, he was hiding it too well. As they entered, they took in their new surroundings not out of wonder, but out of the instinctive need to know any other methods of exit.

They were in a large throne room. A metal chandelier holding dozens of flickering white candles hung from a chain attached to a metal loop in the ceiling. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting knights and kings fighting evil monsters. The high windows were simply adorned with dusty velvet curtains. According to the color of the sky, it must have been nighttime. Minstrels dressed in dark brown colors stood off to the side, playing their lutes and pipes. On the opposite side, several stern looking men in dark robes and cloaks were reading silently to themselves from scrolls and parchments. One held a large scythe as if he meant to cut their heads from their bodies as easily as he could cut and gather wheat.

It was the sight directly in front of them, however, that caused Keladry and Faleron to wonder what the hell was going on.

Cleon immediately sat up from where he had been cattily laying across a large throne encrusted with gold and rubies. Four women in mostly revealing dresses made of sheer scarves and white satin had been feeding grapes to him while cooing in adoration. They licked their blood red lips and ran their pink tongues over their slightly pointed teeth as their shadowy eyes saw what was interrupting them. The redhead pushed them away now and stood up, rushing over to his friends in a fit of giddiness.

He was dressed in black and gold, a style of which reminded Keladry of medieval times where warriors fought with swords and shields. She barely caught a glimpse of a golden circlet on his head before the sharpshooter embraced both his friends in a large hug.

"Hey! You're awake! This is great. Now you can all the interesting things I've been up to," he cheered. He let them go and took a step back. He struck a pose with both hands on his hips, grinning like a madman. "Well, what do you think? Dashing, yes?"

Faleron smirked. "I'd have chosen a different adjective, one denoting the characteristics of pansies and daisies, but that works, too."

"Cleon, what's going on?" Keladry asked. She was happy that her friend was unharmed, but it didn't make sense why he was being given the royal treatment, literally, while they had been in jail cells. She eyed the rest of Cleon's court attendants with mistrust.

The redhead shrugged. "Well, after they knocked you both out, I displayed my fancy marksmanship. They started bowing down and worshiping me. It was so cool!" He laughed, but eventually stopped when he saw Keladry's dour expression. "Right. Well, it turns out that they have a prophecy that someone matching my description would come along and become their king in a time when no king had ruled for at least a century. So, they took us here to the, uh… Black City, I believe they call it. Anyway, they insisted on drugging both of you so you remained asleep because they have some rule about foreigners knowing the location." He grinned proudly. "They made an exception for me. I'm their new king, after all!"

The circumstances of the situation were becoming increasingly confusing. Keladry didn't know what to make of it. She looked over his shoulder at the men in the black robes. They gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Cleon… don't you think that this is a little weird? A lost civilization in the middle of nowhere, crowning you their king?"

"Well, of course it is! But they haven't harmed me or you, so I don't think they will." His eyes widened when he gasped. "Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!" Cleon laid his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "Your brothers and the rest of their crew are here! They're alive and safe!"

A wave of relief washed over her. She stared into her friend's eyes. His smile was infectious, and soon, she was smiling as well. She quickly regained her composure, putting on a serious face again, and took a deep breath. "So… they're here? They're okay?"

Faleron hummed in appreciation. "Good job, Kennan. You've outdone yourself."

"Well, at first, they were in the same holding cells that you were in. After all, they had trespassed or something. Now they're being fed and treated with the highest respect. I ordered it—did you hear that? I _ordered_ it! ME! _Ordering_ something! Isn't that the greatest thing you ever heard?"

"Tell me I can borrow a few of your grape-feeders and I'll call _that_ the greatest thing I ever heard," Faleron replied.

Keladry gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "Say, Cleon? Can… can I see them now?"

The redhead slapped his forehead. "Well of course you want to see them! Go right ahead. Here, I'll take you myself." He winked at her and then cleared his throat. "I'm going to visit our other guests. Business and such will resume when I return."

Nearly everyone in the room with the exception of the three Mithrans bowed. An elder man in black robes spoke. His gaunt face reminded her of a skull. His skin looked as if it might fall off at any time from decay. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Cleon pumped his fist in the air twice as if celebrating the championship victory of his favorite sports team. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm toward the door and the guards opened it again. He grinned and ushered his friends before them.

"Oh, wait until you get to the _food_. It's absolutely heavenly! It's been my favorite thing so far!"

"Leave it to you to fall in love with the food," Faleron muttered, smiling.

As they walked down the hall, any one they came across bowed or curtsied to the redheaded king. Cleon puffed his chest out as he walked, reminding Keladry of a rooster who had proclaimed himself king of the coop. Neither she nor Faleron protested when he looped his arms with his and began gossiping quite like an excited schoolgirl.

His cheeks were flushed with emotion. "I was so surprised when we finally reached the Black City. It's just like its name—dark colored buildings and roads. Everything, really! They had torches and watchtowers everywhere. It was like stepping back into King Arthur's court, you know? Well, apart from the Elvira-like influence. Not that it's _bad_… just… weird."

Keladry was still disconcerted about the lucky turn of events. She glanced around her. The officer hadn't expected anything fancy at all, perhaps a cave with a bunch of men half starving while huddled around a fire. Now they were in a lost civilization hidden from the world. It seemed almost like a dream.

_Or a nightmare,_ she thought. She looked warily at the dark walls and torches. "Cleon, are you sure we can trust these people?"

"Sure we can!"

Faleron caught on to Keladry's idea. "Kennan, have you thought of what you're going to do when we have to leave? It's not like you can stay and rule this… Black City."

Their tall friend forced himself to smile, though the feeling didn't quite reach his eyes. He sighed reluctantly. "Well, no. I hadn't thought of that yet."

They stopped in front of another large set of doors. Another guard with a spear and a sword sheathed at his waist bowed to Cleon. The man leaned his weapon against the wall while searching for the right key among his many others to open the door.

Keladry noticed how Faleron was staring at the keys. Despite his aversion to his former lifestyle, he continued to add more to his knowledge so that he might use it to aid himself later. They stepped back as the guard swung the door open.

"Why do you lock them in?" she asked.

"Oh, my advisor said it would be a good idea to do it so that they didn't get lost around the castle."

Keladry nodded, though inside she deeply resented the mere idea of locking up her brothers in a place they didn't want to be in. She withdrew her arm from Cleon's and walked ahead, though a growl from the guard caused her to stop. Obviously, to them, it was bad manners to walk ahead of the king. She waited patiently for Cleon and Faleron to walk evenly with her again.

They went down another hall and entered a brightly lit room. Inside, several beds of plush multicolored cushions were positioned in a circle around the room. Perfumes and incense attacked Keladry's nostrils, causing her to wave her hand in front of her face to disapate the smell. Women similarly dressed to the grape-feeders in the throne room lounged around comfortably, lying against the missing men from the plane.

A tall man who resembled Keladry in facial structure and hair color sat up from where he had been sleeping on the cushions. He stumbled over other mounds of pillows and cloths on the thick red carpet before sweeping Keladry into his arms. He even lifted her off her feet.

"Kel!" he cried, tears springing to his eyes.

Keladry, restraining her emotion more easily, smiled back at him. "Inness."

Her brother set her down and held her at arms distance to get a better look at her. While she was still dressed in her traveling clothes, Inness wore a long tunic, leggings, and his original hiking boots. In fact, she observed that all the missing men were now wearing the same black and red garments. 

Another man, who was the same height as Kel, took his time getting up from his fruit servers and cushions. He had slightly darker brown hair and a tanner complexion. He acknowledged Cleon with a nod and faced Keladry. Unlike his brother, he only held out a hand for Keladry to shake.

"Hey, baby sister. Glad you could drop in on the party."

She took his cold hand in her warm one and nodded stiffly. "Right. Hi Conal."

Inness breathed out loudly. He'd never understand his brother's apathy toward the family. He knew that Keladry didn't know how to show her emotions well and that she was also focused with her work. Conal was an entirely different story. Watching his brother, he always received the impression that Conal detested having a family at all.

Brushing aside his uneasiness, he greeted Cleon, whom he had met the night before. "When will we be able to go home?"

"What? No longer interested in the pots and pans you came to find in the first place?" Conal snapped. He gestured around at their other companions watching from their beds. "I thought you would be ecstatic to finally be enjoying the attention."

Keladry suddenly remembered her conversation with Professor Wellam in Irontown. He had mentioned something about tracing the origins of artifacts that had supposedly come from the Yamanis though the objects did not match anything of contemporary Yamani art forms. Inness was devoted to his research and his expeditions, but Conal had only come along for the money.

Her archaeologist brother was having a strenuous time trying to put up with Conal's negativity. He ushered Keladry to take a seat where he had been eating fruits and nuts. The woman who had been lying there got up and curtsied. She poured a goblet of red wine for Keladry, staring at her in a way that made her very uncomfortable.

"It's not the same designs," Inness told her quietly, keeping his eyes lowered. "Nothing here matches what I'm looking for. It's… western influenced here. The entire city seems like a page out of the Mithran history book. I don't understand it. At least the pots I had showed slight contemporary Yamani influence."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. And though the idea of introducing this place to the world is mighty tempting, I'd rather go home and keep my mouth shut." He glanced around the room. "There's something not right about this place. I don't know what it is."

She took his hand in hers. "Did they mistreat you while you were in the prison?"

"No, no. They treated us fine. But the way they looked at us. It's different from being taken hostage in a foreign country—" He was referring to the year before where he had a misunderstanding while visiting the Bazhir over an archaeological dig. "It's like… they were expecting something to happen. Something… I don't know. I don't _want_ to know. I just want to go home."

Keladry squeezed his hand. "I know. So do I."

She _did_ want to go home. Her home, however, was no longer the same as her brother's. She longed for the company of her friends and her neighbors in Tusaine. She wouldn't even mind watching her boss Chief Flyn and Marshall Raoul play a game of chess for two hours if it meant being at home. Keladry realized that she could care less if Lalasa dragged her to the mall. She would gladly wolf down a whole plate of nachos if she could be at one of Lerant and Dom's football watching parties.

But she couldn't go home. Though they now had the opportunity to return home with her brothers and their crew, there were still missing persons on the bottom of their list. A spot inside her chest began to burn with unspoken anxieties.

_Joren and Neal,_ she thought. _Where are they?_

~~

The wolves leapt down onto a ledge. It took the stern commands of their riders to keep them from howling at the full moon in the sky. After a week's worth of hard traveling, the beasts wanted very much to hunt down a mountain goat or even a small lamb to tear apart. Their riders calmed them and offered them raw chunks of birds that they had shot down during the day. Borealize dismissed them. He would summon them again with a high-pitched whistle when they were ready to depart again.

One of the riders walked up to the end of the ledge and knelt down, casting his gaze upon the dark city that greeted them. Strands of his silver white hair wafted in the breeze from under his hood. Another man crouched beside him, having put on a dark hood over his head as well. 

"Selirithel, what do you see with those eyes of yours?" Liam whispered.

Coal black eyes widened. The five other comrades felt a strange pulse coming from the dark robed figure. They moved away naturally, watching him from a distance. The silver haired man held out a pale long fingered hand spread out in front of him. He hissed deep in his throat. Then, he withdrew his hand and hid it in his long sleeve. "Nine vessels without tainted blood dwell below."

"Nine," Neal murmured to Joren a few feet behind. "We're only after six."

His partner narrowed his eyes, watching the bright orange flames of the watchtower fires. The light reflected in his eyes, causing Neal to shiver out of fear. "You're right. We're only after six. Whoever the other three are, we'll leave them. We barely have enough resources to move six more, let alone nine. It might even be a trick."

"What if it's not a trick? Do we leave the other three there to die?" he whispered furiously.

"If you wish to be merciful, you may strike them down before we depart," Liam spoke, glaring at Neal. "It would be kinder than leaving them to be tortured by the Black City."

Joren nodded, for once agreeing with his rival. "Yes. We'll put them out of their misery and burn the bodies."

A voice deep inside him wondered if he would regret his words.

~~

Author's note: Hope you enjoyed it! Aww, I know. Many of you were expecting Keladry, Cleon, and Faleron to join their friends in Enishi's City. Alas, it was not so. But fear not! They are all now in one location, ready to be reunited (at least, that's what _you_ think). 

The beginning scene was meant to raise some interesting questions. Enishi's pardon of Selirithel, Liam and Joren's connections to Enishi, the mysteries of Enishijirou in general… Seeing as Keladry hadn't used her glaive in a while, I gave her the opportunity to show off her skills and her wonderful weapon. And as for Faleron's lock picking skills—I had fun with that. I sat down and read an entire introduction to lock picking at the library just for the heck of it. Maybe I'll think about learning. It makes for a good hobby.

Oh dear. Now we're in the Black City. Odd place, isn't it? Dark, ominous, gloomy, with dudes in black robes resembling grim reapers and women resembling succubae… This _can't_ be good. 

However, the next episode will not feature our heroes in the Black City. Their story is about to get a whole lot darker, and that being the case, I have decided to give you one last glimpse of wackiness and sidesplitting humor. The next episode stars none other than… THE RIDERS' OWN! Also guest starring Chief Flyn, Buri, Daine, Numair, the Conté family, Alanna, George, half their kids, and good ol' Myles!

COMING SOON: Episode 13 of It Could Be Worse Season 3: Good Cookin'! See ya there!


	13. Good Cookin!

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 13: Good Cookin'!**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: PG13 This is simply a reprieve from the dark and gloomy story line that has thus progressed this season. And now, for the main attraction… THE RIDERS' OWN!

~~

As Keladry sat with her friends, her brothers, and their crew at dinner, she thought back to Inness' innocent wish to simply return home. No one except Cleon could bring himself to chatter as if they were in a normal setting. This being the case, Keladry focused on her private thoughts of Tusaine and Tortall. 

Though she had not lived in Tusaine too long, she felt bonded with the city. It was a thriving metropolis full of interesting people. Ah, yes. The people. Keladry recalled her neighbors from the floor above—the Riders' Own. Led by Marshal Raoul Malorie, a man almost as famous as Keladry's role model, Alanna Olau Trebond. The Riders had met Keladry and her friends with nothing short of the most wonderful hospitality that she had ever seen. She felt as if she were one of them, even though she did not work with them.

She hoped, wherever they were, that they fared well.

~~

Domitan Masbolle put his feet up on the edge of the desk and pushed off, sending him gliding across the floor in his office chair. He came to a gradual stop in front of a Bazhir by the name of Qasim ibn Zirhud, who was currently leaning against the doorframe and sipping herbal tea.

"Guess who's coming to visit," Dom sang tauntingly. A smile was spread wide across his face.

The dark skinned mechanic glanced at the computer terminal that Dom was usually situated in front of. He sighed. "I can't imagine. Why don't you tell me?"

With another Cheshire Cat grin, he turned around, pushed off the wall, and went gliding back to his computer. He cleared his throat dramatically, putting one hand flat on his chest while holding the other out to Qasim in an official manner. "Raoul, dear old friend! As per tradition before every election year, Thayet and I will be traveling around the country to view the state of the major cities and to promote good spirits in the future. 

"Tusaine is our first stop—partly because I do wonder what you're up to there. Despite your free roam of the entire country, you love to stay there. Perhaps I will finally see why. And besides, Alanna heard about it and has insisted on accompanying us so that she could come and tease you. She's bringing George and two of her older children. Myles is coming as well, for some reason I choose not to fathom. (Where Myles is involved, it is often wise to keep one's eyes averted until the smoke clears, as you well know.)

"Councilwoman of Tusaine, Daine Sarrasri, has informed me that the usual representatives of the city are not available to receive our party this weekend. She suggested that you and Chief Flyndon might want to. That being said, I look forward to seeing my old chum again and send Buri and Flyn my deepest regards. Jonathan Conté." 

Dom turned around and nodded to Qasim. "The President's coming to town! _This_ ought to be amusing."

"Amusing?" Qasim echoed.

"Didn't you just hear him? Raoul is the one who has to set up their welcome reception!"

It sounded more bizarre than amusing. It was common knowledge that Raoul hated the fake pomp and circumstance that came with politics and the government in general. The Bazhir frowned slightly. "What are you doing reading the Marshal's mail anyway?"

"Raoul hates computers. He always has me check his mail. And _never_ has it been more rewarding than today!" Dom rubbed his hands together mischievously. He stood up and began slipping on his jacket. "I'm going to give His Stubbornness the good news."

Qasim winced inwardly. "This isn't going to be pretty."

~~

Raoul stared long and hard at the Rider before him. He glanced at Flyndon, who was seated behind his desk trying to remain indifferent. Then he looked again at Dom, as if the man had grown an extra head. Finally, he propped his chin up on his hand and gave his younger comrade a genuinely pensive look.

"I had no idea that today was April Fools."

"It's _not_," Flyndon corrected. He gestured to Dom. "He's telling the truth, Raoul."

"Telling the truth?" Raoul replied. He scowled. "That's not the truth! That's a sick, twisted, _devious_ plot crafted by Jon to make me feel guilty and humiliated for never giving the country a nice and pretty picture of the Mithran Marshals!" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Nope! Not doing it. Sorry, Flyn! You're on your own here. There's _no_ _way_ I'm going to plan a welcome reception."

"Welcome receptions often come with a welcome banquet in the evening," Dom inserted, beaming despite his boss' foul mood. He had never seen Raoul this angry before, but instead of being afraid, he felt quite pleased. It was not everyday that one saw a reputable man of the nation's high-ranking law enforcement lose his composure. It was exciting in the way that leaping over hot coals was exciting—and incredibly foolish.

Chief Flyndon Whiteford drummed his fingertips against each other, creating a steeple shape with his hands. He rolled matters over in his head, finally coming to stop on a seemingly suitable solution. "Raoul. Perhaps you would consider dividing the work? I'll take care of the welcoming reception. You take care of the dinner."

There was a brief moment of silence before both Dom and Raoul began cracking up in bouts of laughter. The Marshal pounded his heavy fist on the top of Flyn's desk as if he couldn't stop laughing. After a long few moments, the silliness subsided. Raoul peered intently at Flyndon.

"What makes you think that I'd agree to _that_ arrangement? I'd rather do the welcoming reception than a stupid banquet."

"It wouldn't have to be a big banquet. A small dinner—only for us, chosen Council representatives, and the traveling party," Flyndon coaxed in a placating voice.

Raoul glared at him. "No way."

Flyndon returned the steely gaze. "I'm not doing this by myself. You either agree or…" He paused and thought for a moment. "Best two out of three."

Dom blinked. He looked back and forth between the two older men. "What? Best two out of three?"

The Rider watched in amazement as Flyndon and Raoul began rolling up the sleeves on their right arms, flexing their fingers as they did so. They cleared a space on Flyn's desk so as to give them room. Dom gasped when he realized what they were going to do. _Arm wrestle! Raoul versus Flyn? No way! This is… this is_ legendary! he thought. He looked on, wide-eyed with wonder.

"Ready?" Flyn asked, a devilish smirk gracing his features as he put his right elbow down on the desk.

Raoul did the same. He was grinning toothily.  "Any time, Flyn. Bring it."

"Okay! _Rock, paper, scissors—shoot!"_

Both men flung their fists forward, each choosing to form a different shape with their fingers. As they repeated the process two more times, Dom stood at the doorway, thoroughly disappointed. When the two men were done, Flyndon emerged victorious, rolling down his sleeve and appearing very cocky.

"Well! I guess I better start on that reception, huh?"

Raoul growled low in his throat. "You were lucky."

Dom looked distastefully at them both. "That was the wimpiest thing I have ever seen."

"Oh yeah? Why don't you come roll up your sleeve and say it! Come on!" Flyndon challenged. "Right here, sonny!"

The next five minutes, Dom recalled later, turned out to be far more interesting than he had first anticipated.

After Dom had left, Raoul called Buri into the office for her opinion. She detested fancy ceremonies and dinners just as much as he did, though she had more tolerance for it. She also had a good level head on his shoulders, which in Flyndon's opinion, made her more useful than Raoul when it came to practical matters.

The head of Tusaine's criminal intelligence sat primly in Flyndon's other guest chair. She put off an aura that was calm and collected, but her two male companions knew better. She was just as dangerous as them, if not more because of her untold history. The difference between Buri and them was that she could disguise it. Raoul was much more brazen about things. She often accused him of having no idea what subtlety meant.

"So. Buri, what do you think? I'll order from some fast food restaurants, hang a couple of paper banners saying "Welcome Jon and Thayet" yadda yadda, and call it a night. Yes?" Raoul asked. He could honestly care less. 

Buri rolled her eyes upward toward the ceiling as if asking for the divine patience to answer the question without being too cynical. "It's not hard to see why Jon doesn't expect much of you."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm _saying_ that perhaps you might want to put some effort into this."

Flyndon nodded. "You know, that's a good idea. Why don't you make it a real elegant dinner? Jon will never be able to make fun of you about formalities ever again."

Raoul stood up and walked behind Flyndon's desk. His mind soaked in the implications that this created. He faced them with a grim look of determination. "Not bad… not bad at all. All right! That's it then!" He leaned over the desk, dialing a number into Flyndon's COMscreen. After a few seconds, Lerant Eldorne's sleepy face appeared. "Lerant!"

The young man began blinking, waking up at the sound of his employer's voice. "Raoul?"

Lerant had always been overqualified in many areas. Raoul had thought it such a shame that his talents had been overlooked by the DJPF simply because of a family disgrace. In reality, the young man had an extremely good eye for financial matters. That fact alone made him Raoul's new best friend. "Lerant! I need you to call every fancy restaurant in town and every banquet hall. Find one for this Saturday and book it. The President's coming to dinner."

It was true. But it was also blunt. And this was the fact that made Lerant suddenly sick in the stomach. He fought his agitation. "Yes, sir. Of course." He paused nervously. "Raoul, what's my budget for this… _project_?"

The Marshal shrugged as if it had been obvious. "Why, my salary of course."

"Ha!" Lerant suddenly burst. He slapped a hand over his mouth and cringed. "Oh, I mean. Of course, sir."

"Are you implying that my money isn't enough?" Raoul countered suspiciously.

The Rider chewed his lower lip gently. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to form an answer that wouldn't earn him _trouble_. "Well, sir. In many cases, it would certainly be enough. But considering that this is a _Presidential_ dinner that we're talking about—are you sure you don't want to order burgers or pizza? I mean, I thought you _hated_ J-"

"This dinner must be the best in all history of Tusaine!" Raoul insisted vehemently, putting his hands down on the desk. He lowered his face closer to the COMscreen. "Do you understand?"

Lerant was completely frozen, his eyes wide as if he were a deer caught in headlights. A few seconds passed before he snapped out of it, thoroughly terrified. "Yes! Yes, sir! On this budget… this last minute… this magnitude of sophistication…" He seemed to be almost whimpering. "I'll do what I can."

"Good," Raoul grinned smugly, standing up straight again. He disconnected the transmission on the COMscreen and rotated the screen to where it had originally been facing.

The day went peacefully after that. However, when Raoul returned to the DJPF apartment complex to check on Lerant's progress, he was greeted at the elevator by three of his other Riders. Yukimi noh Daimoru, his demolition expert, leaned casually against the wall beside the elevator. Prosper Tameran flashed Raoul a pleasant smile, though he was more known for being shy rather than openly cheery.

It was Fianola, the youngest Rider, who ended up speaking first. That day, she was wearing a wig of blonde hair that was shaped like a helmet with the ends curled up. She was prone to try on different disguises during the week, which served her job as Raoul's amateur actress and spy. "Raoul! Hey, boss man! Why aren't you having dinner with Flyn or Buri? Don't you guys always go out to eat?"

Raoul frowned. "I came to see Lerant about booking a banquet hall. I'll have dinner with him."

"Well, you're out of luck! He just stepped out with Dom and Qasim for dinner," Yuki announced.

"That's odd. Both our vans are parked right over there."

"They took a taxi!" Fianola cried. She and Yuki looked to each other and started giggling loudly. "It's the funniest thing. Qasim said he had to change the oil on the van that was _here_, but I was out in the other van. I came back after they had already left."

"Yup. It's the truth," Yuki confirmed.

The Marshal rested a hand on Prosper's shoulder. Prosper had been Raoul's first member of the Riders' Own ever since about five years ago. The younger man had always been extremely loyal because of it. That moment was a perfect opportunity to test it. "Prosper?"

The usually quiet, reserved Rider lifted his eyebrows up in mild apprehension. He gulped. "S-sir?"

"You would never lie to me, _right_?" Raoul asked, staring straight into Prosper's eyes.

Prosper's expression resembled Lerant's wide-eyed look from before. He shook his head vigorously. "Never, sir."

Yuki and Fianola exchanged nervous looks.

"Where is Lerant?"

Prosper lowered his head. He sighed deeply and pointed upward with his left hand. "He's in his apartment, hiding from you."

"Prosper!" Yuki and Fianola yelled.

Raoul pressed the elevator button with the upward pointing arrow. "Thank you, Prosper. And by the way, take off the wig, Fia. You look like you belong in an oldies' kitchen cleaner commercial."

Fianola pouted and removed the wig from her head. Raoul put his hands between the ladies and parted them so that he could step into the elevator. As the doors were closing, the three Riders turned around. For a moment, they thought they saw a devilish gleam in his eyes. They shuddered.

Raoul stepped out onto the fourth floor less than a minute later. He whistled idly as he walked. Coming to a stop in front of his intended destination, he pressed the intercom button and spoke, "Lerant, open up. I know you're in there."

A few seconds passed. Raoul tried again. "Lerant! Now!"

With what seemed to be the largest reluctance in the entire world, the door opened slowly. Lerant stood sheepishly to the side, his dirty blond bangs flopping in front of his eyes. He didn't speak, but waited for Raoul to enter the apartment. The two men went to the couch and sat.

"So! How go the arrangements?"

Lerant rubbed his hands together. "Well…"

"Well, what?"

"You picked a _bad_ weekend, Raoul."

The Marshal frowned. "How bad?"

"There's a gourmet cooking convention in Maren that every respectable chef in the nation is attending. They left only their assistants behind. The restaurants and banquet halls are _completely booked_ for weddings and wedding anniversaries—not to mention the birthday of the local hover car tycoon. And, uh, with the budget you gave me… It's… it's definitely bad." He smiled weakly and looked like he was ready to sprint to the door at any moment.

 Raoul groaned loudly. "So there's nothing? Absolutely nothing?"

Lerant picked up a manila folder from the floor. He tapped it with his index finger. "Well, there are a _few_ options."

"What are they?"

"The Shriners. They're willing to lend you their place just for the night."

"Who are they?"

"Ever seen a fez?"

"Sounds like a rodent."

"No, it's a red cone shaped hat with the top cut off and a tassel hanging."

"Ah." He paused. "_Those_ guys?"

The Rider flipped through the plastic sheets he had printed the night before. He pulled one out. "Of all the assistant cooks in Tusaine, I have found three willing to work." He glanced fearfully at Raoul. "You'll owe me some extra money, but you can give me a raise later."

Raoul glared at him. "Where did all my money go?"

"Renting the Shriner's place and paying for the food and decorations itself." Lerant shrugged. "You're lucky that the rest of us are working for free."

"What do you mean _the rest of us_?" the older man glared suspiciously.

Lerant gestured to himself. "Your Riders shall be your new assistant cooks and waiters. We're all you can afford, Raoul. Face it. Being Marshal may be a nice adventurous job, but it doesn't pay well enough to have extravagant banquets any time you want." He sighed. "And there's one more thing."

"I'm afraid to ask."

The young man got up and began pacing in front of him. He eventually stopped and stared at Raoul. "We have to work on your table manners."

"My _what_?"

Lerant jogged to the door and opened it. He let out a deep breath. "And since no one in this building knows table manners, there is only one person we can turn to. Stay here."

~~

Lalasa lifted the pot cover and took a whiff of the soup she had been preparing for dinner. She had only recently started cooking, but she put a great deal of effort into it. And she was getting better with every meal. Roald told her so. He even helped out sometimes, though he knew nothing of cooking either. Their creations were barely edible more often than not.

She dipped a serving spoon into the soup and took a small sip. It tasted close to what she had been aiming for. "Roald! Come here. I want you to try something."

Her husband put down his newspaper in the living room and got up from his favorite armchair. He had taken about two steps when the doorbell rang. "Hold on a second, 'Lasa. Someone's at the door."

He trudged to the door. It was a rather stately trudge. No matter how hard Roald tried to act like a normal person, the years of lessons for proper behavior had never slipped from his subconscious mind. With head held high and back perfectly straight, he pressed the button that would slide open the door.

"Hello?"

Immediately, a metallic ring encircled his wrist. Roald gawked. _Handcuffs_?

He looked up. Seaver Tasride smiled back at him, as did an iguana poised on his shoulder—or at least, Roald _thought_ it smiled back at him. The other two people with him were Fianola, wearing a long dark green wig and a ridiculous outfit, and Lerant who saluted to him.

"Hello, Roald. How are you?"

Roald backed away. He couldn't move far. The handcuffs prevented him from retreating any more than a foot. "What's going on? What are you guys doing?"

"We need your help. This is to make sure you don't escape," Lerant explained happily. 

Lalasa came out of the kitchen, still carefully holding her serving spoon of soup. She frowned when she saw who was at the door and what they had done to her precious husband. "Hey! What are you doing to him? Let him go!"

Seaver tugged Roald out into the hallway, clamping down the other part of the handcuff on his own wrist. Lerant entered the apartment and bowed his head to the Carthaki woman. He attempted to appear apologetic. "Sorry, Mrs. Jasson. We have to borrow your husband. We'll return him soon, promise!"

She gaped at him. "What's so important that you have to handcuff Roald?"

"It's a matter of national importance," Lerant answered. It was partly true. Jonathan Conté was a nationally important man. The Rider bowed again. "Thanks for your cooperation!"

Lalasa scowled. "I didn't give you my cooperation—"

Lerant darted forward and sipped from the spoon that Lalasa still held high in the air. "Hmm. Not too bad. You'll have to give me the recipe so I can try to cook it myself. Anyway, thanks again!"

He ran back out the door with his accomplices. Lalasa shrieked and dropped her spoon. "Wait!"

"This is kidnapping, you know!" Roald yelled indignantly from the hall. 

"Of course it's not!" Fianola replied, exasperated. They continued running down the hall. "If we were kidnapping you, we'd have black ski masks or something."

"Your wig is good enough," Lerant commented offhandedly.

~~

Roald forced himself to take a deep calming breath. He folded his hands in his lap and looked across the small round table. Then the Vice President's son stood up, crossed around the table, and gestured to the place setting in front of Raoul. "Once more. The plates from the first course have been cleared." He picked up a fork. "This is your salad fork. It is has already been used. What do you reach for now?"

Raoul picked up a fork above his plate.

"No, no! That's the _dessert_ fork."

"This is insane. How can you tell these buggers apart?" Raoul complained. "It's impossible!"

Roald resisted the urge to scream. "If it were impossible, I wouldn't have been able to learn it when I was seven."

It was now close to midnight. After the Riders had—more or less—taken Roald from his home against his will, he sat down with Raoul in Lerant's apartment, learning dinner etiquette. Thanks to a lifetime of lessons from his own mother as well as the instructors at boarding school, Roald had obtained enough knowledge on etiquette to be the paragon of all polite and proper dinner guests. 

But that didn't mean he could teach someone who did not wish to learn.

"Moving on. Here's your dinner fork," he pointed to a fork closest to his plate on the left. "There is your dinner knife on the other side. _Not_ to be confused with the butter knife."

"Where's the butter knife?"

"Placed in a horizontal fashion across the small bread plate, which will be above your forks."

Raoul shook his head. "It has to be horizontal?"

"I'll _kill_ anyone who places it at any different angle," Roald replied through clenched teeth, having been driven to the ends of his ropes with the Marshal's incessant questions. He made himself take another deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. He would need an entire bottle of aspirin to help him along the next few days.

He continued to instruct his unlikely student to look the busboys in the eye when they cleared his plate away, reciting "thank you" and so on. When Raoul used his cloth napkin to wipe his mouth, Roald quickly slapped his hand.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You do not wipe. You _dab_. Dab, dab, dab!" Here a slightly crazed look in his eyes made Raoul shy away from him. Roald took another deep breath. "Dab. Lightly. At the corner of your mouth." He took the napkin from him and laid it down across the Marshal's lap. "And don't use your lap napkin if you can help it."

"What about blowing my nose?"

Roald shuddered. "Excuse yourself to the other members of your table and go to the rest room. Do not say 'bathroom'. You may even say the _wash_room. Yes!" Roald nodded. "Say washroom."

"Your stupid rules are killing me, you know that?"

They moved painstakingly through the parts of the main course. Roald's infinite patience was being put to the test. He fought the urge to grab fistfuls of his hair and scream. Now he knew what his instructors had gone through when he was a little boy first learning the rules of formal dining. It was an awful process, he decided. It would be a great scientist who invented the automatic "etiquette brainwashing" machine. Of all scientific endeavors, he believed that he would support that one the most.

"Now, on to dessert. You may order a glass of wine or champagne at this point."

"What about beer?"

Roald blinked. "What about it?"

"Isn't beer an option?"

"Is crashing in a flaming plane while screaming bloody murder an option?" Roald retorted, one eye twitching.

The Marshal did his best to clench his fists in his lap rather than put his hands around Roald's neck to strangle him. He could handle learning the different sizes and locations of silverware. He could remember rules about 'please' and 'thank you'. He _could and would not_ accept the fact that beer was not allowed.

It was a long night for them, Lalasa would note when she woke up the next morning alone in bed.

~~

Saturday night came sooner than everyone thought it would. The rush to obtain all the food and decorations they needed as well as the formal protocol that went with it was utterly exhausting. Flyndon had taken care of security, having several of his Second Class officers circling the perimeter of the building as well as the roof. Roald had become the main consultant for anything that could be thought of. He showed the Riders how the Shriner's hall would be decorated. He even wrote out what dishes were to be expected of the second-rate cooks that Lerant had hired, including an allowance for Daine, who was a vegetarian.

Lerant continued to add together expenses, sweating bullets the entire time. He had gone on a bargain hunt among the local decorative and home furnishing stores for pristine white tablecloths, dishes, etc. When ordering the ingredients that the cooks had listed, he went to the open market. At first, the grocers had been stingy with their haggling, but Lerant refused to give in. 

He ended up constructing a false story about how his terminally ill twin sister wished to marry her longtime fiancé before she died. The medical bills were so much that he couldn't even afford to pay the normal price for the reception's food. Breaking into false tears in front of the forty-something grocer holding grape leaves, Lerant was sure he had never felt lower in his whole entire life. Fianola congratulated him when he got home. She wished she had been the one to show off her acting skills, but felt very proud that her comrade had learned something from her after all.

Roald had also made a list of notes on uniform and formal dress, giving it to his wife. Lalasa had been taking lessons in the business of tailoring. She loved studying fashion and tailoring in her spare time at work. She was in charge of adjusting the Riders' baggy formal clothing so that it fit. She was also in charge of preparing Raoul, as per Roald's orders. Flyndon and Buri were nothing to worry about. But the Marshal was a train wreck when it came to getting dressed properly.

_"Raoul, your cufflinks."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Where are they?"_

_"How should I know?"_

_A sigh. "What about your leather dress shoes?"_

_"What, I can't wear my work boots?"_

_"You're going to a formal dinner, not a hoedown."_

_"I prefer the hoedown."_

_"I'm sure you would…"_

Inside the kitchen, the three cooks who had been hired had already completed the first course appetizers. They were rather high strung and snapped at each other like crabs with sharp claws. Since they were also not as experienced as Roald would have liked them to be, they had also brought many laminated notes and recipes taken from their cooking superiors. These recipes littered the kitchen in no specific order.

Those Riders employed in the kitchen were asked to do anything that the main cooks asked them to do. Yuki was made to prepare the salads. She felt very natural with the chopping knife, so much so that everyone else shied away from her cutting board. Lerant polished dishes that the food would be served on while trying to read random recipes littered on the counter. And Fianola insisted on preparing the crème brulee for dessert. Where she learned, no one knew (after all, she had supposedly been raised by a father who knew nothing but performing stunts in the movies). 

Seaver had also been assigned to kitchen detail, but since the beginning of the evening, no one had seen nor heard from him. They did not look for him too long. Like Lerant, he would be nearly useless until later in the evening. 

Dom, Qasim, and Prosper prepared the tables in the main dining room. Roald had made more notes for them that they carried with themselves everywhere. It took hours for them to get every single place setting right, calculating space for additional plates and glasses. Even decorative centerpieces had been arranged with the utmost precision.

One long table was set up near the far wall of the room. At that table, the Contés, Raoul, Roald, and Flyndon would be seated. Two other tables of slightly shorter length were placed perpendicular to the ends of the head table. All the chairs were placed on the outside of this rectangular horseshoe. At the left, Daine, Numair, Myles, and Buri would be seated. The other table would then have Alanna, George, and two of their children. 

"I can't stand wearing this starched, stiff piece of crap!" Dom explained, fingering his shirt. He had just finished placing glasses of cold water on the tables. He tucked Roald's notes into his pocket and visibly fidgeted.

"We have to help Raoul, so just deal with it," Qasim replied, much calmer than his friend. He went to the back of the dining hall and turned on a stereo that was hidden behind a potted plant. He switched it to light, classical music, which gave the dining room a more convincing prestigious atmosphere.

Roald entered from the entry hall. He glanced at his watch worriedly. "Are you done?"

"We're done," Prosper replied. 

"What about the kitchen?"

Dom looked behind him at the swinging kitchen doors. "The appetizers are almost done."

"Good, good."

"Seaver is missing, though."

Roald's shoulders slumped. "Bad, bad."

The Rider shrugged. "Don't worry about it. He'll turn up. You did a great job, Roald."

They could hear chatter in the hall from where Roald had come. The Vice President's son froze for a few seconds, as if he had radar in his mind and was silently tracking the movements of the speakers. He then made motions with his hands for the Riders-turned-waiters to stand still beside the door.

As they lined up, Roald quickly went down the row, dusting off lapels and smoothing out wrinkles. He looked like he might have a heart attack at any moment. It was quite easy to see how Roald could have run away from home, since such manners and perfection obviously made him incredibly neurotic.

Raoul entered sulkily, followed by Buri, Flyndon, and Myles. All the men wore the same design of tuxedo while Buri wore a simple black gown with a golden hem that appeared as if it had come straight from the boutique. Myles Olau was an older man, who was a little thick at the waist. He had a friendly expression, though a dark shine in his eyes hinted at something more devious.

The Marshal fidgeted just as much as Roald had, although for a different reason. Lalasa had been sure to have Raoul shave, put on cologne, _and_ comb back his hair. The result was something very uncomfortable. He detested it with all his heart. It took all his will power to keep from ripping off his bow tie or to strangle someone with his cummerbund.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Roald greeted.

"Ah, Roald. Good to see you again," Myles replied, shaking the young man's hand. "I heard from your father that you married recently. Congratulations."

Roald smiled congenially. "Thank you. I haven't heard from my parents in a while because of election preparations, so I didn't know if they would have time to tell all their friends."

Myles nodded, smirking. "And I'm sure you've been just as busy working on a Roald Jr. to notice."

The other would have blushed bright pink if he hadn't been trained to stop from doing so. "A bit too late for that."

"Oh! You have one on the way already? You're a fast operator, Roald. Fast, indeed!"

Roald pretended to ignore the muffled snickers coming from behind him. He motioned for Qasim to show Myles and Buri to their table while Raoul and Flyndon continued to wait by the door. They wouldn't sit until their other tablemates had arrived—the Presidential couple. 

The remainder of the guests arrived quickly following that. Daine and Numair entered, having linked arms. Raoul performed the polite greeting that Roald had made him practice, bringing a mocking grin to Flyndon's face. Roald got a taste of his own medicine, however, when he was forced to politely endure another round of comments about his wife's pregnancy.

"It feels lonely without you two living with me anymore," Daine confessed. "But I imagine it was necessary for you two to get a place of your own before I would have been driven insane by incessant nighttime noises."

Numair chuckled at his date's words while Roald again struggled to maintain his noble pallor. Another round of sniggering went on behind his back, but he refused to turn and give them the benefit of seeing him so uncomfortable. Qasim returned to guide the two newest arrivals to the same table.

Next came the Swoop/Trebond family. George and Alanna entered, not as regal as those before them. They were talking to the two teenagers behind them, scolding them for brooding so openly in a public place when the children knew better. Alanna looked resplendent in a shimmering violet gown that fell in ripples around her. The bulge of her midsection made it clear to all that she was pregnant again, despite the mob of children she already had. Instead of living up to that charming maternal image, she took one look at Raoul and burst into uncontainable laughter.

"Look at what they've done to you!" she cried, putting a hand over her mouth and looking up at her former comrade. "Oh, you poor thing! You look like a secret agent from a second rate action movie! Haha!"

George shook his head. "Raoul, have heart. Just think to yourself," he glanced at his wife, "it could have been a _lot_ worse."

Alanna elbowed her husband in the side. She turned to Flyn and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek. "And you look just as imposing as ever. How have things at the station been? The local DJPF?"

"Very quiet. My most active First Class officers have gone across sea temporarily and I'm enjoying my vacation from them."

"Mmhmm," she nodded. "You become more like Wyldon with each passing year. If I ever see you pick up a golf club, I'll die of embarrassment for you."

Roald shook hands with George P. Swoop, who also congratulated him on his future child. It seemed that Roald's parents had been talking to everyone in Tortall, even the two married advisors. George, however, had the tact to not embarrass Roald any more than he already had been. He probably wouldn't. The bickering of his two children, Alianne and Thom, also distracted his attention.

"Dad! Alianne hit me!" Thom whined.

"You're such a baby!" the older Alianne complained. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at her little brother with intense loathing. "Daddy, don't believe him! He's lying."

George sighed. "I don't care who's lying. You're both to behave or else no malls and videogames."

Both teens immediately shut up after that, though they continued to exchange vengeful looks. Dom stepped forward, sorry that he would be assigned to the family's table for the duration of the evening. He always thought it would be nice to meet Alanna and George. After all, their reputations were formidable. But seeing them as frustrated parents and normal jokesters lessened the idol-status that had befallen them.

The two lesser tables had been fully seated. Finally, after a few more moments, Jonathan and Thayet Conté made their grand entrance. They were surrounded by a contingent of guards, all dressed in black and all wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it was evening. Roald had been very accustomed to this sort of atmosphere. He had tagged along on enough important events with his parents so that the presence of such bodyguards did nothing to faze him.

He greeted Jonathan with a firm handshake and daintily received a kiss on the forehead from Thayet, who had always treated him as a child of her own, though he was fully grown. The only bad feeling between them was that Thayet had agreed with Roald's mother. She, too, had thought it was a bad decision for Roald to abandon his prestigious college for a very simple life.

Thayet brushed an ebony lock of hair from her face and greeted her other hosts. "Raoul, Flyndon. It's so nice to see you again."

"Looking as beautiful as ever," Flyndon replied, kissing the back of her hand.

"Jon," Raoul nodded grimly, shaking the President's hand.

Jonathan smiled. "Raoul. You've got such a fine set up here. I'm impressed, good friend. I really am."

"You'd better be, you pompous…" Raoul muttered when Jon's backed had turned. Roald shot him a scandalized look that made the Marshal mouth an apology before following Prosper, their waiter for the night, to the table. The guards took their posts at random corners of the room, some choosing to remain outside with the other Second Class DJPF officers patrolling there.

The other guests arose from their seats as Jonathan and Thayet approached. Alanna and George, caring very little about manners, called out their salutations loudly. Their children remained ill tempered and quiet, not so much as curtsying or bowing to the national figures they saw on a regular basis. Roald made a brief introduction, letting Raoul be the one to welcome all and have them sit while the salads and appetizers were served.

The three waiters returned to the kitchen. As soon as the door had swung shut behind them, they all let out deep breaths. Their postures slackened as well, showing how poised they had forced themselves to be. 

"Yo! You got our first course ready, or what?" Dom called, arching his back and stretching. 

"Shut your loud mouth," Yuki scolded, handing him a platter with four salads on it. She turned to prepare platters of appetizers that were to be carried out immediately after the salads.

Dom examined the salad bowls. "Where's the dressing?"

"I have it!" one of the cooks cried, coming forward with a plate. On it were three bowls of dressing with a dipping spoon.

Another cook stepped away from the stove, picking up another plate of dressing bowls. "No! I have it! They'll eat _my_ dressing!"

The first cook gasped. He glared at the second one. "No! They'll have my dressing!

Yuki grabbed the second plate and put a bowl on the platter. She took another bowl from the first cook and also placed it on the platter. "There! One of each! Sheesh, you two are such wusses!"

Lerant hissed from further away when a drop of boiling water landed on his arm. "Hey! Get back to your cooking! It's bubbling up over here!"

Dom, having gathered his platter, ducked out the door, glad to be out of the steaming kitchen. Qasim and Prosper likewise placed salad bowls on their platters, taking one of each kind of dressing just to keep peace in the kitchen. The one cook who hadn't argued about dressing proudly continued chopping her vegetables while the other two scrambled to correct anything that had gone awry in their absence.

As Prosper served the head table, he glanced at Roald who seemed to be silently mouthing something to him when no one was looking. The Rider frowned imperceptibly and edged closer toward Roald at the end of the table to hear what had to be done.

"The bread rolls! And a pitcher of water ready and waiting! Always be waiting with a pitcher of water, and for the sake of the gods, don't spill!" Roald whispered.

It was an effort to bow quickly and not run but walk back to the kitchen. As soon as he was past the swinging doors again, he grabbed two small baskets and laid large cloth napkins in the bottom of them. Lerant noticed and frowned. 

"What are those for?"

"Bread! Do we have bread?"

Lerant cursed. "It's still in the oven! No, wait." He ran to the oven and opened it slightly, pulling back when a wave of heat washed over him. "They look done." He turned off the oven. "Where are the oven mitts?"

Prosper saw one lying on the counter and picked it up. "Here!" He threw it across the kitchen, only succeeding in smacking Yuki in the back of the head. She turned and glared at him. "Sorry! I meant to throw it to him!"

She picked it up and threw it hard at Lerant, who held up his arms in defense. He winced when the glove struck him, but he put it on quickly and took the pan of bread rolls out of the oven. In the meantime, Dom and Qasim came back. Taking their cue from Prosper, they also retrieved small baskets to put rolls in.

"Oh, wait!" Prosper said. He let Lerant fill up the baskets while he turned toward the faucet. "We need pitchers of cold water." He went to the refrigerator. His eyes scanned the contents of the fridge, becoming crestfallen when he realized that there was no more chilled water. "Hey, Yuki. Run me some tap water into the pitchers."

One of the cooks turned around, thoroughly insulted. "Are you telling me you're going to serve tap water to the _President?_"

Dom frowned. "Why can't we?"

"What's the difference? No one is going to know," Prosper added.

Yuki snorted. "You idiots. Roald will know. For some reason or another, the man we always thought of as the nice, shy friend of Kel's has been revealed to be a paranoid-formal-dinner-freak! He'll _know_ the difference."

The Riders contemplated these words for several silent seconds. Then there was a collective murmur of agreement. After finishing up the last basket of bread rolls, Lerant took off his apron and walked toward the door leading to the alley. "If anyone wants me, I'll be at the convenience store across the street buying bottled water."

The three waiters, armed only with breadbaskets and hope, prepared to exit the kitchen once again. They met at the door. Each man gave the other a nervous look. All of a sudden, this simple act of helping of their boss impress his old friend was becoming more chaotic with each passing second. They could only pray that the rest of the night would go well.

Emerging from the kitchen one after another in an orderly manner, they approached their tables with disarming smiles and cheery demeanors. As Prosper laid the breadbaskets down at the head table, he was once again beckoned by Roald to inch closer to the end of the table.

"Where are the pitchers of water?" he whispered.

Prosper cringed. "Lerant's across the street, buying bottled water."

Roald frowned and cocked his head slightly. "Why didn't you just run the tap?"

Meanwhile, the mighty Raoul Malorie was having a not so mighty time conversing with Jonathan. The topics of their discussion had ranged from the weather, to their other old friends such as Gareth Naxen, and Tusaine in general. Raoul had to admit that he was bored to tears. If being impressive meant being one of those men that he had always secretly despised, then he was sure that he would never attend one of these banquets ever again. More importantly, he would never put on an itchy tuxedo again—unless, of course, it was for his own funeral.

He glanced to the right where Jonathan was sitting and thought morbidly to himself, _Doesn't sound like a bad idea._

Flyndon cleared his throat from beside him. Raoul leaned back slightly as his friend began picking up the slack, removing any need for Raoul to talk any longer. He smiled widely to Flyndon, communicating his eternal gratitude. He would live to see another day after all. Preferably another day in rugged pants and an old shirt.

Dom and Prosper retreated to the kitchen, leaving Qasim out at the tables in case anyone would need his service. While they were in the kitchen, they were pleased to see the rest of the appetizers ready to be served. The three cooks were steadily working on the main course. And Fianola remained seated beside the refrigerator reading a magazine, waiting for her crème brulee to chill properly before adding any toppings.

"Run the tap water in the pitchers," Prosper told Yuki. "Roald says the tap water is fine. No one will know the difference. And let me have the other appetizers. We might as well bring those out while we're at it. Gods know that the Trebond kids aren't eating the salad."

"Lerant is going to be pretty mad," she warned. She took a glass pitcher and began filling it up under the faucet.

"Well, we need pitchers ready right now. There's no helping it."

She handed the two waiters the pitchers of water. Just as she did, Lerant burst through the door, panting hard. He had obviously run the entire way. He held in his arms plastic bags filled with six-packs of water bottles. He took one look at the pitchers that Dom and Prosper held, then cursed loudly.

"I hate you all," he growled and threw the bags down onto the counter.

The waiters gave them his apologies as they went back out the door again. The lavish dinner continued. The guests were all pleased with the food. Most of them were happy with their table companions. Myles and Buri had no trouble at all conducting a deep discussion on Federal matters that only they would know about. Daine and Numair, as always, acted as if they were in a world on their own though they knew they weren't supposed to do so in public lest rumors arise. Roald was having a wonderfully pleasant conversation with Thayet about funny things Roald's mother did when she and Thayet went to school together. 

Only Raoul felt he suffered. Well, Alianne and Thom believed they suffered, too. But seeing as they were not adult yet, no one paid too much mind to them. And this made them all the more brooding and dark spirited. They picked at their salads idly, spearing cucumber slices and tossing them at each other. Dom sighed and rolled his eyes as he watched their antics. He closed one eye as a cucumber struck it and slid down his cheek.

"Alianne!" Alanna reprimanded

"It was Thom! I swear!"

"I don't care who it was! Both of you apologize to the poor waiter right now!"

Dom sighed again as he listened to the muttered apologies. _Poor waiter. Yes. Poor me._ He glanced at the teens again and discovered that they were still arming themselves with green projectiles despite their mother's admonition. _Yes. Poor, poor me._

Back in the kitchen, one of the cooks was waiting for his duck to cook while stirring the homemade sauce that was to go with it. He smiled happily to himself, thanking his good fortune that he would now have the distinguished honor of saying that he had once cooked for the President of Mithros. Now his normal boss, the head chef at a downtown restaurant, would be sorry that he had left him behind.

These cheering thoughts lingered on his mind as he looked up from the stove and came eye to eye with a long green snake hanging from the cupboards.

"Aaahhh!" He screamed. "Snake! Snake!" Overwhelmed with fear, he jumped backwards and fainted. His body slumped to the floor while the other cooks looked in his direction, saw the long limbless reptile, and also shrieked. Before anyone else could react, the two conscious cooks dropped what they were doing and ran out the door into the alley, screeching wildly into the night.

Seaver appeared at a third alternate door that led to the entry hall. He looked around the kitchen at the stunned faces of his fellow Riders. He finally spotted the snake and trotted over, calmly removing it from the cupboard and laying it across his shoulders.

"Hey, girl. I've been looking all over for you!"

"Seaver!" Yuki yelled. "What were you thinking, bringing that thing here?"

He shrugged. "I just got her. She's not used to the tank, so I wanted to bring her with me so she could get used to me. She's not poisonous or anything."

She glared at him. "Whatever, whatever." She let out a deep shaky breath and beckoned to Lerant. "Wake up our last cook here. I don't think we'll be able to track down the other two."

Lerant picked up a bottle of water. At least he could put the water he had ran to buy to good use. He unscrewed it and poured the contents over the fainted cook lying on the floor. Immediately, the man sputtered, spitting out water and sitting up. He began breathing frantically, crying about a horrible monster that leapt out at him.

"Dude, calm down. It was just a pet snake," Lerant said.

The cook got to his feet. His face was red as a tomato, a sign of his outrage. "I have never been so humiliated in my entire life! I am done! I quit!" He took off his apron, threw it on the floor, and marched toward the door. "And I expect my payment within three days or else I'll sue!"

The door slammed shut behind him.

Fianola sighed. She got up from her chair, opened the refrigerator, and took out a tray of her crème brulee as if nothing had happened. She proceeded to get out the toppings for the desserts and arranged them carefully on the small serving plates. Seaver, appearing quite remorseful, offered to help Yuki and Lerant tend to whatever things had been left to cook on the stove. 

Things had lapsed into a tense silence. The three new stand-in cooks attempted to follow the laminated recipes as best they could, though they knew it wouldn't be quite the same. They worked steadily for ten more minutes before Yuki sniffed the air.

"Does anyone smell smoke?"

Fianola, without looking up, replied, "The duck is burning."

"The duck!" the three others cried simultaneously. They all grabbed the handle to the oven and flung it open. A fire burst from the tiny square door. They jumped back in surprise.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!"

Lerant began fanning away the smoke as he turned the temperature dial off. Seaver grabbed some oven mitts and pulled the rack out with the flaming duck on top of it.

"Quick!" Yuki coughed from the smoke. "Fire extinguisher!"

The entire kitchen was filling up with smoke. Lerant ran to open the alley door and turned on as many portable fans as he could find. Meanwhile, Seaver had located the fire extinguisher. He ran back to the oven and sprayed the burning bird. White colored fog clouded around the oven for a few moments, to add to the dark smoke that had already filled up the room. The only sound that could be heard was coughing.

After a few more moments the smoke cleared. Lerant was still carrying a portable fan to their side of the kitchen so as to keep it going out the swinging kitchen doors.

Yuki and Seaver put on oven mitts and transported the white foam covered duck to the large industrial trashcan. They stared down at the abandoned food. Then they looked to each other with feelings of utter hopelessness.

"We lost the duck," she mumbled.

"Yes. We lost the duck," Seaver echoed.

"The poor duck," they said together.

Fianola, ever attentive to her crème brulee, shrugged. "The dessert is okay."

Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open to reveal Dom, running in with a panic-stricken look on his face. "Hey! I heard yelling. What's h— yaagghh!"

They watched, frozen in shock, as Dom slipped in the puddle of water Lerant had used to wake the cook up and went flying into the air… only to land on the floor with a very painful thud. Having struck his head on the floor, Dom was immediately knocked unconscious. Lerant shuffled over slowly and bent down to examine him.

"He's out cold." Lerant sighed.

Yuki looked back and forth from the ruined duck to the Rider on the floor. She and Seaver exchanged completely dejected looks.

"We lost Dom."

"Yes. We lost Dom."

"Poor Dom," they cried.

There was general hopelessness for quite some time before Qasim entered the kitchen to check up on his fellow waiter. When he saw Dom lying on the floor with his eyes closed and the other Riders standing about, still unmoving with utter despair, he cursed in his native language for an entire minute.

Seeing as he was the only collected one in the entire group, he pointed to the stove. "Lerant, Yuki, get back on the main course. See if you can salvage what's left. Seaver, come here. Help me move Dom. Fia—"

"I'm working on my dessert!" she exclaimed. "Don't interrupt me!"

Seaver and Qasim dragged Dom carefully over to a chair. After propping him up in it, Seaver exhaled deeply. "Okay. There's only one thing to do."

"What?"

"Take his clothes off."

Seaver blinked. "I hate to tell you this, Qasim, but no one here shares your—"

"Not that, you perverted snake charmer! We need a third waiter, and he's obviously not going to come to anytime soon." He touched Dom's hair. "Would you look on the lump on that head?" He began undoing the bowtie and the shirt buttons. "You have to put on his clothes and help me serve out there! We'll figure out what to do with him later."

With less than gentle movements, they managed to undress Dom and have Seaver change into them right there in the kitchen. The clothing was a little baggy on Seaver, since Dom was the largest Rider among them all. They left Dom in the chair by the alley door, just to keep him in the fresh breeze rather than the still smoky air by the oven.

Seaver draped his pet snake over Fianola's shoulders. She didn't seem to notice, but continued to work contently on her desserts.

The two men reluctantly ventured back out into the main dining room, platters tucked under their arms. As they re-entered again, it became obvious to everyone who saw that Dom had been replaced. Qasim pointed out the table, which Dom had attended to. 

"Finding everything all right?" Seaver politely asked George, who was seated on the end of the table near Raoul.

George nodded. He leaned back as Seaver began collecting empty dishes. "Say, what happened to the other waiter? Dom, I think his name was."

"Yes," Raoul asked, overhearing. There was a glimmer of malice in his deep, piercing eyes. "Where is good ol' Dom, anyway?"

Seaver gulped. He turned slightly and bowed his head to the Marshal. "He had to step out for a moment. But I'm glad to fill in for him, sir. I hope you all have enjoyed the meal thus far."

"Oh, we're enjoying it immensely," Alianne intoned from the other end of the table, winking at Seaver. All of a sudden, she had lost all reason to be sulky. Fluttering her lashes at the Rider, she hoped to make a good impression on what she considered to be a very handsome young man.

He blushed bright pink, quickly taking the other salad plates and stacking them on his serving platter. George and Alanna glared at him as he passed by them, though Thom appeared very amused by his sister's hormones. As he neared Alianne, he darted out his hand to take her plates before she could reach out and grab his hand.

"What's your name?" she asked sweetly.

"S-seaver," he replied quietly. 

"That's a nice name. I'm Alianne."

"N-nice to m-meet you." 

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Uh…" Before she could speak again, he bowed quickly to the members of the table and made a beeline for the kitchen again. 

Alianne snapped her fingers under the table. "Darn."

As Prosper and Qasim joined him again in the kitchen, Seaver was sitting on the kitchen counter, appearing very disturbed. Prosper stood in front of him and stared him straight in the eye. He folded his arms over his chest and gave him a knowing look.

"Did the daughter of the two most important advisors to the President just put the moves on you?"

"Pity me," Seaver groaned and covered his face with his hands.

In a fit of frustration, Lerant threw down his oven mitt and pointed at the stove. "We can _not_ salvage this. It's over. It's _all_ over."

Prosper frowned. "It can't be! We haven't even served the main course!"

Yuki shook her head. "No, there's very few left that doesn't have fire extinguisher foam all over it."

"What will we serve? We can't just skip straight to dessert!"

"You're right," Fianola said, again without looking up from her desserts. "You can't. I'm not done."

Qasim nodded. He rubbed his chin. A plan was forming in his mind. Yes, a great plan. The only hope they had left. He walked over to Yuki and Lerant, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. "There is only one solution."

"What is it?" Yuki asked.

He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. "You must go to the all-night buffet down the block, pile your plates with Bourbon chicken, and sneak out the back doors." He nodded. "We are Riders. We are resourceful. I… I have faith in you."

Lerant blinked. He cursed under his breath as he went to the coat rack to get his jacket again. Yuki reluctantly did the same, though she was far more bewildered by the solution than her swearing friend. Lerant stomped out into the alley, muttering, "I knew he should have just asked for pizza and burgers! I knew it!"

Prosper led his fellow waiter back out into "the lion's den" as he now came to call it. Every time he reentered, Roald glared at him as if he knew exactly what was going on the kitchen. And Raoul appeared as if he wanted to be thrown to the lions. Prosper wouldn't mind following him if it meant getting out of this welcoming dinner.

When Prosper was within range, Raoul whispered, "What's taking so long?"

"Surely, we can't rush genius, can we?"

"What genius?" Raoul muttered.

Prosper leaned in close. "The genius that comes with a buffet line."

The color drained from Raoul's face. He looked up at him with an incredulous expression. Prosper smiled and began addressing everyone at the table. "Please forgive the wait. The main course will soon be here."

It was another twenty minutes before Lerant and Yuki returned, panting, with armfuls of plastic bags and plastic take out containers. The buffet down the street had been closed for repairs, but the sports bar next door was open and had plenty of chicken to sell. They began chopping up vegetables and sprinkling seasoning over the chicken to disguise it as best they could. They even managed to save enough scallops and carrots to compliment the rather simple roasted chicken.

"Wine. Now would be a good time to bring out the wine, too," Yuki added.

"What about the kids?"

She rummaged through the large refrigerator and found two cans full of soda. She tossed them to her accomplice, who proceeded to pour them into glasses. They scrambled to prepare the main course across the thirteen plates, trying to make each look as fancy as possible.

Fianola remained silent through it all, continuing her precious work on the fabulous crème brulee. Even the snake had started watching the process, darting out her tongue every now and then, as was her nature.

Seaver returned to the kitchen first, very distraught from the relentless attention from Alianne. George had started to glare at him rather evilly, reducing Seaver to a puddle of goo that simply wished to leak through the cracks in the floor and die. He slumped against the wall and groaned.

"Please tell me you have something to end my pain. Aspirin… a girl-shaped muzzle… a bullet…"

Yuki held out two plates of food. "Take it. Take it away and may I never see it again."

He put them on his serving platter as Qasim and Prosper entered. They put down their pitchers of water and gratefully took the plates. With each course of the meal passing, their night of torture would soon be at an end. They walked briskly through the swinging kitchen doors with grim faces back into the chaos that was a Presidential welcoming dinner.

As a sign of some sort of divine luck, the thirteen dinner guests enjoyed their chicken and vegetables very much. Even Daine, who left her chicken untouched, but enjoyed the seasoned flavor of the scallops and vegetables enough to cancel out that detail. She was more focused on her talk with Numair anyway. After all, it wasn't every day that Numair was in town (or, actually, it was… the Councilman's trips to Tusaine became so frequent those days, he had practically taken up residence in the same hotel suite).

After serving the two sodas to Thom and Alianne, Seaver was once again the first to escape back to the kitchen. While he had been setting down the glass and clearing away a bread plate that she was finally done with, Alianne had reached out with her bare foot and stroked the inside of his leg. He had jumped a little, his eyes wide with embarrassment as he muttered an apology for his skittishness and walked quickly to the swinging doors.

As soon as he was safe in his unlikely haven, he collapsed against a wall and whimpered. "I'm not going back out there! Wake Dom up! I'm not leaving this spot!"

Yuki, who was now lying across the cleared counter in attempt to get some sleep before she had to wash dishes, opened one eye. She studied her trembling friend and made a pitying clucking sound like a hen. "Aww… girl trouble?"

"Far beyond girl trouble!"

"It can't be that bad," Lerant yawned. He was lounging on top of one of the counters as well, munching on a leftover piece of chicken.

Seaver, his face still as flushed as when he first came back from serving duty, glowered at him. "Why don't _you_ go out there and tell me how you like having little Lolita feel you up!"

Unfortunately, the main course could not last forever. Seaver reluctantly joined his fellow Riders out in the main dining room to collect the plates and refill any glasses. Prosper had almost grown accustomed to giving whispered status reports to Roald as he walked by. He had also given encouraging looks to his boss, who was more or less trying to fade into the background while Flyndon and Jonathan talked. Qasim was having no difficulties with his table at all. They all got along well and none of them wanted to hit on him.

The same couldn't be said for Seaver, who very reluctantly gathered up the plates and made note of which glasses to refill. He didn't care to look in George's direction. He was sure it wouldn't be good. Alanna wasn't being as cold anymore. She seemed to realize that Seaver was just as mild mannered as could be. Thom couldn't have cared less. He played with his napkin, folding it as if it were something to do origami with.

Alianne had drunk all of her soda, just to be sure of a refill. When Seaver returned from the kitchen to refill it, she leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her palms. "What's your favorite color?"

Seaver shrugged, backing away again as soon as he filled the glass up. "Blue, I guess."

"That's so cool! I was thinking of dying my hair blue," she told him with a delightful sigh.

Thom grinned. "Mom! Mom! Alianne says she's going to dye her hair blue!"

Alanna snorted. "Out of the question."

"But Mom!" Alianne protested.

Seaver took it as his chance to slip away unnoticed and un-groped. The other two waiters followed him. As soon as they entered the kitchen again, they were greeted with an unexpected sight.

Fianola had finished her wonderful desserts, putting so much time and effort that no one had ever expected it of her. She proceeded to waltz about the kitchen with Seaver's snake in her arms, as if in her own fantasy world. Yuki and Lerant were peacefully asleep on top of the counters. They deserved the sleep, so the waiters took up the dessert plates with as little noise as possible and departed again without a sound.

They served each table quietly, feeling cheered by the fact that the night was almost over. Hopefully Raoul would come to his senses next time around so that they would not have to relive that evening. They wouldn't even wish it upon their own enemies. Well, maybe some.

Jonathan peered down at his tiny bowl of crème brulee and noted the sliced strawberries placed with such exactness around it, also accompanied by chunks of chocolate covered with dots of whip cream. What most fascinated him was the perfect smiley face drawn with chocolate syrup on the crème brulee itself. 

"How cheerful!" he remarked to Raoul. "Who's your chef? This looks positively scrumptious."

Raoul blinked and stared at the dessert. He couldn't remember who had been assigned to make dessert, perhaps Lerant's hired cooks. He chuckled lightly and replied, "We aim to please, Jon."

Jonathan took his fork and decided to test it for himself. He smiled instantly and swallowed. "It's just as delicious as it looks. I'd say that this was the best part of the meal."

"You say that about every meal," Thayet remarked from his other side.

"Only because it's true," Jonathan admitted. 

They lapsed into a new conversation about wonderful desserts they had eaten over the course of their lives, including the sundaes that they had managed to sneak into their boarding schools. That was, after all, where they had met each other. A strange, profound luck had brought them, including Alanna and Gareth Naxen, all together in the same boarding school. And though it had been hellish from the work alone, they had always found solace in each other's company. 

At the very end, Jonathan announced his gratitude for such a fine welcome and even finer cuisine. They departed single file out into the entry hall, chattering amongst them. Thayet began telling Roald her and Jon's plans for the following day, in case he wanted to join them.  Roald politely told her that he would consider it, though he had no intention of leaving bed the next day. 

He would be too busy recovering from stress.

As they exited, Prosper, Qasim, and Seaver bid them goodnight at the door. Seaver's eyes widened and his entire body froze the instant he felt someone give him a slap on the butt. He dared not look to see who it was, for the telltale sign of girlish giggling already made it clear who exactly it had been. He muttered something to himself and continued to say farewell to the rest of the dinner guests.

"Poor, poor Seaver," Qasim whispered.

"Yes, poor indeed," Prosper agreed.

Seaver glared at them.

Jonathan took Raoul aside as soon as they had stepped out into the brisk night air. Jonathan's contingent of bodyguards had tightened around them now, though they had banished themselves to the shadows of the main dining room during most of the dinner.  He smiled at his old schoolmate and sighed.

"I know you didn't enjoy that one bit, Raoul. And I'm very thankful for your effort," Jonathan said.

Raoul raised one eyebrow suspiciously. "You're kidding, aren't you?"

"No! No, I mean it," he assured him. He leaned closer and whispered, "I'm especially grateful that you snuck food out from the local sports bar into the dinner. I swear, I'm getting so tired of these new inventions that the chefs keep trying on me—just because I'm the President and I'm supposed to have something unique. I think I'll revisit the sports bar again before I leave. I was there for lunch, you see."

"So, you… you knew?"

Jonathan winked. "Of course. I have a penchant for such things. But don't tell Thayet. She'll kill me."

Raoul grinned. "Jon, old boy. You got my solemn word on that."

"Oh! And make your dessert chef send me the recipe. That was simply superb."

"Yes, sir!"

The two men shook hands. A small black car pulled up. Jonathan and Thayet were rushed inside without another word. A motorcade of black cars with shaded windows formed, parading down the street in a very official fashion. Raoul watched, rubbing his chin. He still couldn't believe what had just happened moments before.

Everyone else left with less notoriety. Roald, Raoul, Flyndon, and Buri stayed. They had promised to change out of their fancy clothes and help with the clean up since the entire dinner had been so short of staff. When the passed through the main dining room and into the kitchen for the first time, they were taken aback by the chaotic mess that greeted them.

Lerant and Yuki were still peacefully sleeping on top of the counters, but Fianola had ceased her dancing with the snake and was enjoying one of her own creations with a spoon in hand and a bowl of strawberries at her side. 

"What happened back here?" Raoul demanded of Prosper, who seemed to be one of the few who still had most of his sanity intact.

"It's a long story…" Prosper cringed.

Flyndon laughed. "Well whatever you did, it worked!"

Roald nodded. "In a very strange way, yes, it worked. How could that have worked?" He seemed perplexed at the sheer craziness of it all. "Peculiar… So peculiar…"

"Congratulations to you all, especially you, Raoul. I'm really proud that you proved you could be well mannered in front of Jon," Buri told her friend.

"Me, too. Oh, after all these years, me too." He stopped when he caught a glimpse of something strange over Qasim's head. Raoul walked past their tiny group and peered at the area near the alley door. He turned back to the conscious Riders behind him and frowned. "What the devil is Dom doing clad only in his boxers and socks?"

Seaver picked up one of Lerant's water bottles, screwed off the cap, and splashed it in Dom's face. The tall Rider awoke with a start, sputtering and spitting as he sat up. He immediately shivered and looked down at himself. Slowly, he met the eyes of his audience and blushed.

"A bit drafty in here, isn't it?"

~~

Author's notes: Whee! Yay, a fun episode for once! And now, ladies and gentlemen… the time has come for more serious things. I hope you enjoyed this last bit of comedy, because we're about to get into the heavy climax-building part of the season. And whether that's a good or bad thing is up to _you_ to decide!

So, tell me what you think of the episode. Review or email, I'll be glad to have either!

-Sulia


	14. Prophecies

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 14: Prophecies**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: R for violence, brief mentions of gore, and a reasonable dose of dark evil things that go bump in the night. Think of an action movie with creepy monsters… Succubae being slutty (how original) oh, and a series of bad jokes by Neal, Joren, and Fal. Don't let that discourage you! KEL AND JOREN REUNION!

~~

Keladry woke up early the next morning. She dressed very quickly in dark clothing provided by the castle attendants. She had not enjoyed the company of the dark-eyed women, who spoke very little to her and stared as if Keladry were food to eat. Hoping to avoid any morning assistance from them, she crept out of her room before dawn. 

It wasn't too long before she found the hall that would lead to her brothers' room. The guard recognized her and saluted. He unlocked the door without speaking. Keladry moved past him quickly. There was something about all the occupants of the castle that she didn't like, but she couldn't put her finger on it. The fact that her brothers and their crew were still behind locked doors didn't help things either.

Most of the men were asleep. Her brothers, however, were both awake. Conal, holding a small candle, poured over a thick dusty book in the corner. He looked up, saw her, and went back to his reading. Rather than feel offended, Keladry rationalized that he was still angry about being held in the castle against his will. 

Inness was eating a piece of bread that had some sort of purple jelly spread on it. A servant must have already come and tended to her brothers, since both appeared as if they had washed and had eaten.

"Hi," she whispered, taking a seat beside him on the floor. The high window cast broad stripes of light across their bodies. 

He moved over so the light didn't shine in his eyes too brightly. "Hey, Kel. Hungry?"

She nodded. He turned around and picked up another piece of bread on the tray that was covered with the jelly. He handed it to her and continued eating his own piece. When she finished, he peered at her quietly. Keladry consciously tucked locks of hair behind her ears.

"When do you think we'll be able to leave?" he asked.

"I don't know. Cleon will probably order them to let us go, but I don't know if he'll be allowed to leave. He _is_ king of this place."

Inness smiled. "There is a big chance that they have never heard of abdication."

"That could be a problem," Keladry agreed solemnly.

They sat together in silence for another hour. She tried to remember if they had ever sat quietly like this when they were younger. As far as her mind could recall, Keladry had always sought out isolated places in the house to do her studying in. Inness, however, had constantly studied in the kitchen or the living room where he could pause his studying and talk with Anders or any other family member.

Keladry pulled her knees up to her chest and watched her brother, who was still gazing into empty space. She hesitated before speaking. "Inness?"

He flinched. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry that I don't know you better. You… or Conal… or anyone else."

Her brother frowned slightly. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm your brother. Of course you know me."

She shook her head. "That's the problem. I don't. And you don't know me."

Inness brushed the crumbs off his fingers and folded his arms defiantly across his chest. He leaned back on the wall and gave her a challenging look. "Try me."

"What's my favorite color?"

He paused. "Baby blue."

"Wrong," she replied quietly.

"That's a trick question!" Inness objected in a loud whisper. "You don't _have_ a favorite color. You hated having favorite _anything_."

Keladry considered his words. "True."

Inness rolled his eyes. He shifted around and leaned against his sister so they were shoulder to shoulder. He nudged her side with his elbow playfully. "We'll do the twenty questions thing when we go home. There's plenty of time to get reacquainted."

From across the room, the other Mindelan sibling listened. He didn't dare to look over his shoulder at the display of familial affection that he refused to participate in. It was Inness' fault that they were trapped in the Black City. And it was Keladry's fault that her own brother didn't know anything about her. 

Conal blamed himself for other things just as much as he blamed his siblings. But that didn't matter at the moment. He wanted to leave the Yamanis. Yet, he also didn't wish to return to Irontown. Something else had to be out there, waiting for him to claim it. Then he wouldn't be the good-for-nothing son anymore. It was a goal worth fighting for.

He gripped his candle tighter and turned a page. The history of the Black City was more interesting than he had anticipated. Perhaps he had been a little hasty to demand a speedy departure from the place he was being held captive in. He let his earlier anger with his family fade into the background as he opened up a door in his mind.

Opportunity was knocking. Conal wouldn't make it wait.

Gradually, the other crewmembers began to wake up. Servants, both men and women this time, entered carrying trays of food and basins to wash with. After everyone had woken, fed, and dressed, a man in black trailing robes typical of the royal advisors entered the room. A cowl was pulled over his face. 

Keladry stood and approached him. "Sir?"

"Morning business is about to commence. Your presence is requested by His Majesty."

"You mean Cleon, right?"

The man bowed. "I refer to His Majesty."

_I'll take that as a yes,_ Keladry thought, sighing inwardly. She bowed quickly in return and followed him out the door. Her brother's crew was murmuring behind her. They were probably wondering if she could get them home again. There was only one way to find out.

Yesterday, she had almost memorized the path from the throne room to the place where they were keeping Inness and Conal. Now they traveled to a different location. Keladry, confused, couldn't remember the turns they were taking that very moment because she was trying to compare it to other paths in the castle that she had come close to figuring out.

They halted in front of a large set of doors. Two torches burned brightly on either side. Three guards were posted here, each wielding a different weapon. Faleron was seated on the dusty hallway floor, peeling an orange over a cloth spread on his lap. When the former thief saw her, he picked up the corners of his cloth and scooped up his breakfast into a neat bundle. He got to his feet and hailed her.

"Good morning! Have a nice sleep?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so." She looked at the doors. "Are we going in or what?"

"Cleon is having a talk with one of his advisors." He glanced at the robed man beside Keladry. "Do _you_ know what this is about?"

The man gestured toward the doors. "You will see soon enough."

Before they could talk again, the doors opened. Two of the guards stepped aside and genuflected on one knee each. Cleon stood before them. He was dressed in the same black and gold garments from the day before—large soft sleeves and a brocaded collar that matched the adornments on his shoes. He was twirling the golden circlet crown on his finger as if it were a Frisbee. When he saw his two friends, he grinned and ushered them in.

"What have you been doing?" Keladry asked.

Another man was already in the room. Like the others they'd seen, he wore his signature black robes. But unlike anyone else, this man wore many golden and bejeweled rings on his thin tapering fingers. He inclined his head toward Cleon again as the redhead reentered the room.

"I was just asking Maggur here about letting you all return home. He's the head chamberlain, whatever that is," Cleon said. He sat on the edge of a large bed covered with red and gold satin cushions.

She now noticed that they must have been in the king's chambers. Everything was laden with treasures and the most expensive luxuries she had ever seen. They were fond of using velvet in rich colors, thrown over all the furniture as if they were afraid it would go out of style. Even golden statues of animals were scattered as carelessly as one would scatter toys. Perfume permeated the air. It tickled her nostrils. Three simple wooden chairs were set up in a semicircle at the foot of the bed. Apparently, only Cleon was allowed to have a nice seat.

"Please, guys, take a load off. I don't think this should take too long, but everything's about formalities here," Cleon said. He leaned casually on his bedpost, now having put his crown back on without another thought.

The chamberlain sat down with an air of elegance and grace. He smiled cordially at his new sovereign. "Your Highness, may I say that you have settled so naturally into your destined role as king. Such a sight to behold! An honor!"

Faleron directed an unimpressed look toward Keladry, sharing his thoughts very openly to communicate his annoyance. He returned to peeling his orange. Cleon paid no attention to them. He was grinning from ear to ear, quite absorbed in his own image. It was certainly a change from round-the-clock reprimands given by his boss and coworkers. 

"Cleon? Back to business?" Faleron prompted with none of the respect that Maggur had shown. He had never treated Cleon like anything more than an equal and he wasn't about to start.

The redhead blinked. He sat up. "Right! Maggur, I would like my friends transported back to the eastern coast so that they might return home."

"What about Joren or Neal? We have to find them first. They could be anywhere," Keladry reminded. Despite her calm outward appearance, she was very nervous on the inside. She couldn't imagine where their other friends might be in the vast wilderness of the eastern mountains.

Maggur held out his hands in supplementation. "Your Greatness, we would be pleased to assist your guests in any way. But first, ritual must be performed! Prophecy fulfilled!"

At the last two words, the three Mithrans were mystified. Faleron reacted first, as always. He stood up and glared at the chamberlain. 

"What does the prophecy say? All that we were told was that Cleon comes along and you crown him your king. What else is there? What are you hiding from us?"

Cleon and Keladry stood as well. None of them had suspected that there was anything more to the prophecy than that which had already happened. Now the revelation renewed their distrust in the Black City. 

The chamberlain got to his feet slowly, as if his brittle bones would snap at any moment. He reached into his voluminous sleeve and extracted a scroll with ivory handles. Unfazed by their hostility, he unfurled the long rolled parchment and began to read.

"As according to the Unnamed Prophet, one shall come… one who is bound by fate to lead his people to victory over all their enemies. He shall come with hair the color of flames and ever-changing eyes—"

Faleron elbowed Cleon. "I thought you had green eyes."

"They change colors in the light," Cleon defended sheepishly.

Maggur continued as if he had never been interrupted at all. "He shall be known from first sight! Where his comrades have fallen, he shall stand triumphant, throwing forth punishment as quick as lightning but subtle as the gentle breeze…"

_Oh, please,_ Keladry thought. _The only reason he stood triumphant was because he ran away faster. I could have taken any of those guys without Cleon coming to the rescue._ Slightly irritated, she waited for the man to continue with his supposedly awe-inspiring prophecy.

"He shall begin again where his predecessor failed, centuries before. He alone shall tame the dragon that will take vengeance on the Kingdom of Enishijirou from across the mountains! And he alone shall be the cause for his people's rejoicing!"

With those dramatically spoken words, Maggur raised the scroll over his head as if to give tribute to the gods. He began singing in another language, loudly and clearly. It was an assortment of notes that sailed to high pitches, then back down to low ones within a second. Outside the door, the guards could hear. They also took up the song and let it echo throughout the halls of the castle.

Cleon collapsed back onto his bed with a pale face and wide eyes. Faleron sat down beside his friend and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It could be worse. The prophecy could have asked you to grind our bones to make your bread," he said, smirking slightly.

"Yeah! And then they would have had me fall off a beanstalk and kill myself!" Cleon burst, very distressed. He groaned and put his hands over his ears to shut out Maggur's singing. "I can't tame a dragon! Dragons don't exist!"

The chamberlain ceased his song. He stared at his new king with a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. "Surely His Highness believes in the Dragon of the Lake!"

Faleron raised one eyebrow quizzically. "Dragon of the Lake?"

"Oh, sure I do!" Cleon snapped sarcastically. "Right up there with the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus!"

"Now, I was _sure_ that you did believe in those," his friend mumbled. He tapped his chin and sighed. "I owe Roald twenty Nobles then. That's a first."

Maggur put the scroll away. He lowered his head in farewell. "I shall leave you to prepare yourself, my king, and escort you to the city gates at sunset. It is best to approach the dragon by night. And it is your destiny to tame the dragon and raise up high your city over all others!"

Without so much as another word, Maggur knocked on the door to be led out. The guards were still singing out in the hallway, grinning brightly as they saw a glimpse of their dear king with his flame colored hair. The doors shut again on the three Mithrans, who might have well been in a state of stupefied silence.

Cleon began pacing back and forth across his chambers. He bit gently into one of his knuckles as he put into perspective the bombshell that was figuratively dropped on him. His two companions likewise drifted into their own contemplative moods.

Finally, Faleron got up and went to the large wardrobe in the corner. He threw open the doors and let out a deep breath. "Well, they were definitely preparing for you to go off dragon taming. Here's a pair of pants and a pair of boots…" He blinked and reached forward. He showed them a long whip. "They even provided a riding crop. Hey, let's see if you can't make the thing jump some poles and race it against other studs its size. All horsey-like."

"You're not funny," Cleon grumbled.

The former thief snorted. "Well, I can officially end my life now that I've heard you say _that_."

Keladry sighed. "Neither of you is being much help. Look, Cleon, we'll go with you." She paused to think back to what Maggur had said. "We could help you, then not tell the public. You alone bring them rejoicing? Okay, fine. They'll never have to know that you had help."

The reluctant King of the Black City stopped his pacing and threw himself facedown onto the bed, burying his head under the pillows. He squirmed childishly and groaned once more. "What the hell do we know about dragons? They're not real! How can we tame one to fight for us and what the _hell_ is the Kingdom of Enishijirou?!"

Faleron, who had been ignoring most of his best friend's tantrum since the beginning, suddenly let out a murmur of appreciation as he found a very useful weapon. He fitted a metal helmet over his head. It also had a shaded visor that covered the eyes. Then he picked up a large metal cylinder with a crudely crafted mechanism on top. He pointed it at Maggur's vacated chair and pulled the trigger. A blaze of fire shot out at the chair and lit the entire thing aflame.

He released the trigger and, cradling the large cylindrical tank in one arm, flipped his visor back. Keladry and Cleon stared at him speechlessly.

"Maybe dragon taming has something to do with showing who can make the bigger bonfire. Seems everywhere you go, people are always bragging about _size_," he muttered, sighing regretfully. They weren't sure if he was talking about fire or something else that they had no desire to know about.

There was a pitcher of water in Cleon's private washroom that they used to extinguish the chair. Keladry picked up a bottle of perfume and sprayed about randomly to cover up the smell of smoke.

"We have no choice but to prepare for this ordeal, then," Keladry spoke. "Come on, Cleon. Get dressed in those things that are in the wardrobe. Are there any extras, Faleron?"

Faleron tossed out random leather pads, chain mail, and other bits of armor. He dove into the humongous wardrobe after a short cry of surprise and struggled to haul himself out. He showed them his findings. "Look! Isn't this a rather spiffy looking crossbow?"

"Maybe you should have been the dragon tamer," Cleon groused. He slowly began to put on the armors and pads that were tossed in his direction. "Being king was fine. Making decisions? Totally cool! Slaying or taming big huge fictional lizards? No. Nuh-uh. I've had my fill of Immortals and I'd rather just go home to my girlfriend and let _her_ beat up all the bad guys while I crash on the freaking couch."

Faleron pouted. "I've never seen you so sad before." He lifted both eyebrows and brandished the weapon again. "Is it because I have a spiffy crossbow and you don't? Goodness! It could be!"

"Fal!" Keladry scolded.

"Fine, fine. You can have the crossbow. I feel much safer with the medieval blowtorch, anyway."

She rolled her eyes and sat down beside Cleon, comfortingly stroking his back. "We'll help you, Cleon. And then, perhaps when you've come into your full power as king… you can renounce your throne in favor of the chamberlain and come home with us."

"We have to search for Stone and Neal, too," Cleon sniffled from under a mound of pillows. "Not that I like blondie much, but maybe he could deal with the dragon better than I can. They'd probably have lots in common!"

_I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,_ she thought and patted Cleon on the back. "Put on the rest of your armor so we can see what's left over. We're here now, and we'll help you, no matter what."

Cleon took off his fancier golden threaded clothing and traded it for tougher pads of leather and cowhide. He put up with the chain mail and the smaller pieces of armor very well, but he balked when they tried to lower the breastplate and shoulder pads onto him.

He swung about his limbs to get a feel for his limited range of motion. "Argh! I can't face a stupid dragon like this! You might as well hang me on a pole and make barbecue out of me."

"I don't think you'd taste too good," Faleron commented.

He and Keladry took off the breastplate but left the shoulder pads on. It turned out that there was not enough for all three of them to wear effectively. Cleon took the crossbow, a few extra bolts, the blowtorch, and his gun. He gave the sword to Keladry and the dagger to Faleron. He wasn't that good with blades. With all his luck, he probably would have skewered himself.

They spent the day in the king's chambers, trying to think of strategies that they would use to defeat the dragon without killing it, only taking a break when lunch arrived. They considered setting up large traps and cages until Keladry reminded them that this dragon would have to obey them and destroy only their enemies. 

"Who I still don't see… Where the hell is Enishijirou? How come we've never heard of it or seen it?" Cleon wondered.

Less than an hour before sunset, they were fast asleep on the floor, leaning their backs against each other. If the dragon taming were to take place at night, they would need their rest. There was a knock at the door. Keladry woke instantly. She got up, causing the other two men to totter over and fall onto the floor on their sides. With Cleon's armor on, it was much harder to get back up.

She opened the door, not at all surprised to see Maggur. The chamberlain greeted her with a thin-lipped smile. He brushed past her and bowed graciously toward Cleon. He stepped aside to allow two servants enter, bearing trays of food for dinner.

"My Liege! I'm glad to see you have finished for preparations and meditations. Please, eat! Then you shall go forth and retrieve our great living weapon!" He raised his hands over his head, his eyes closing briefly.

Faleron came up behind Keladry and whispered, "This guy gets crazier every time we see him."

They sat and ate under Maggur's watchful eye. It was quite uncomfortable with those dark beady eyes staring at them. None of them could work up a sufficient appetite, so the servants were forced to carry away more filled plates than they would have liked. Maggur grinned maniacally.

"O Great King, the time has come, then?"

They stood up and faced him. Cleon stepped forward, balling his hands nervously into fists. "I want them to come with me on this ordeal."

The chamberlain's smile disappeared. He studied Keladry at the redhead's side and Faleron over Cleon's shoulder. Then he leaned toward his king and said to him quietly, "Surely, you're jesting…"

"No. I want them with me or I won't do it at all," Cleon replied firmly. With each second passing, he felt more confident that everything would turn out all right. As long as he stuck beside his friends, nothing could go wrong.

Maggur glared at the other two Mithrans now. He stepped back toward the door, beckoning a guard forward. He whispered something into the man's ear and turned back to them. The look in his old eyes put the three on edge. At once, Keladry thought that perhaps they wouldn't have their request granted.

Cleon stood his ground. He folded his arms across his chest and attempted to appear very superior and noble. "Well? Will you let us pass so that we can get this over with or not?"

The black robed man seemed to be stifling any fury that he felt. "Your Highness! We have always interpreted the scrolls to say that you shall venture forth alone! And it must be so!"

"Well, you interpreted wrong! Now step aside!"

The old chamberlain let out a deep breath. He retreated into the hallway, letting one of the guards come forward to block the doorway. 

"You give me no choice then," Maggur said gravely.

Before any of them could react, the grim faced guard raised his arm from where it had been held behind his back. He held up a crossbow and shot it without a moment's hesitation.

Keladry gasped. For a few seconds afterward, she was too afraid to take her eyes off the men in front of her in case they might fire again. Closing her eyes, she tried to push past her shock and discover whether or not she had been the one to be hit. If she had, wouldn't she have felt it? Or was she numb from sheer terror?

No. She was whole and intact. Keladry turned her head to look at Cleon beside her. He was standing as still as she was, as if he were afraid to move and determine whether he had been hit as well. She slowly let her gaze move downward to look at the redhead's body for any injury.

Cleon turned to look at her, his eyes watering with fear. His eyes rolled over her quickly. He let out another deep breath when he saw that she had not been shot. But as soon as that realization of their safety both struck them, they knew the only other outcome.

"Fal?" Cleon whispered.

They turned to look behind them. Faleron was sprawled out on the floor, blood already soaking the whole front of his shirt. A bolt stuck out from his ribs where it had lodged itself. His eyes were wide open, staring straight up. His chest was rising and falling slowly, as if he couldn't get past the pain to concentrate properly on breathing.

At once, they dropped to their knees beside him. 

"No!" Cleon cried. He gently touched the edge of the wound, hoping that it was all just a ruse. Faleron moaned slightly and flinched under his touch. Cleon stood and scowled at Maggur. "How could you do that? You shot him!"

Maggur pouted. "It was necessary, Your Majesty." He stepped out from behind the guard. "Now, you will behave your damned royal self and do as we say. We have surgeons, milord. And we'll only summon them if you perform _your_ job."

Meanwhile, Keladry, on the floor, was trying to keep their bleeding friend from losing consciousness. She had been trained to deal with fallen fellow officers injured by more common means. She had no idea how to deal with a medieval weaponry! How could she remove it without adding any more injury to him?

She turned her attention briefly to Cleon, who was so distraught that he had no idea how to answer Maggur's threats.

"Cleon! Just do as he says," Keladry urged. She wet her lips anxiously and tried to form plans in her mind. "If you're destined to do it, then do it."

He shook his head. Tears were streaming down his face. "What about Fal?"

"They said they have surgeons. We have no choice but to trust that, Cleon. I don't know how to help him!" she cried desperately. "I don't know, Cleon. I don't know…"

The despondency in her voice only added to the ache that he felt inside his chest. He stared at his best friend, his front covered in blood. There was a chance that he could live. The bolt looked like it was not as deep as needed to be fatal. He took that hope and held it as tight as he could.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Glaring at Maggur, he picked up his own crossbow and clipped it onto the leather sling over his back. He also attached the blowtorch and his gun on his belt. He almost threw his helmet at the men before him, but controlled himself and tucked it underneath his arm.

"Good," Maggur breathed. "This way, my king. We shall bestow upon you the map to the Lake and the Shield of the Last King. You shall be triumphant!"

"You mean, _you_ will be," Cleon snarled. He spared one last look at his friends before following his chamberlain out the door. His hands shook. His whole body shook. He didn't know how he could bring himself to do all that was being asked of him. Cleon let out a deep, shuddering breath.

"Healthy and well, milord?"

"I won't be if you break your end of the bargain. If anything happens to my friends or the others, I'll kill your dragon and myself! Then you'll have no chance to fulfill your stupid prophecy!"

Maggur clucked his tongue. "But, Majesty! That wasn't our bargain. You're in no position to dictate the terms of the agreement. You cannot threaten to defy the prophecy if we don't tend to your companions. _We_, however, reserve the right to employ our surgeons depending on your obedience. Do you understand?"

Cleon remained silent.

"Besides," he added. "There's also the poison to put into consideration."

"What poison?" Cleon asked, his body tense with more fear than he cared to show.

The chamberlain shrugged. "Oh, just a bit of poison on the tip of the bolt. Whether or not we administer the antidote is also up to your good behavior."

"I hate you," Cleon hissed.

"Oh, you'll have much more to hate in a few hours, milord. Take your time." Maggur sneered.

~~

Joren and Neal leaned back to back in the darkness, wary to leave their rears unguarded. Time was approaching nightfall, they knew. They would be able to leave their fifth hiding spot of the day and penetrate further into the guarded city. 

During the day, they and the other members of their new rescue party had infiltrated the Black City. They gathered information from eavesdropping on soldiers and stealing documents from the homes of army officers. The whole city had entered a flurry of activity since the new coronation of a monarch that very few had heard about before. Liam, Borealize, and Selirithel had never heard of such things while living at Enishijirou. The news only gave them more cause to carry out their mission as quickly as possible.

They had lowered themselves into the sewers. Neal noticed that it didn't smell half as bad as he thought it would. Images of people simply dumping their trash out the window rather than down the sewer drains entered his head. There was more pollution on the streets than in the sewer simply because the citizens were too stupid to use it.

_I didn't think I would be this thankful for their pigsties,_ he thought as he scrunched up his nose and caught a whiff of something rotten that had made its way down to the sewers after all. He looked across the filthy waterway where the other three men were sitting. Borealize and Selirithel were eating bread they had stolen from the marketplace while Liam sat isolated from the rest, lost in his own thoughts.

"We should get moving again," Liam announced finally. He reached for a rolled up parchment tucked into his belt. They had managed to break into the office of the man in charge of the city's water system and sewers to retrieve blueprints. "The sewers connect to the castle dungeons. We can enter from there."

They traveled through the dark and dank sewers for what seemed like hours but was truly a short time. As they came to the entrance of the dungeons, they silently looked to each other in reassurance. From then on, no one knew what could happen.

The dungeons were empty. The cells were covered with dust. Skeletons of former prisoners laid scattered amongst these cells and also on the entrance from the sewer. They moved past these sights silently and headed toward the door. With all of their joined efforts, they could not force the door open.  

Liam whispered something to Selirithel. The dark cloaked man seemed hesitant to do what was asked of him. Eventually, he laid his hand on the lock. In the very dim light, they could just barely make out his lips moving, rapidly whispering words they couldn't hear.

The next thing they heard was a loud click. They pushed the door open easily and crept out into the dark halls of the castle. They split up without speaking anything to each other. It had been understood from the start that they would spread out to search the castle. Each man had been given a charm, an opal hanging on a golden chain, which would signal the others to its location. 

Joren and Neal walked together for a short time, completely silent. They didn't mention it, but they preferred to have a person they could trust to be nearby in case something happened.

Eventually, they walked up set of steps in a servants' hall and came to a stop at a four way crossing. They could hear footsteps approaching. Both men exchanged serious looks before they split up and darted in opposite directions. They couldn't look back. Not anymore.

~~

Keladry sat on the floor outside the castle infirmary, leaning against the wall with her head cradled in her hands. She had stayed by Faleron's side for the duration of his surgery. They had been able to remove the cross bolt without too much consequence. Just the same, he had lost a great amount of blood and broken two ribs. And now the surgeons were muttering to each other about something else. When she listened, she could have sworn that they had mentioned poison.

The mere thought made her sick in the stomach. She had kissed Faleron gently on the forehead, leaving him to rest in his bed while she sat outside and tried to gather her senses. His blood was still on her clothing from her assistance carrying him. She was partially thankful that they had given her black shirts and pants.  She could hardly tell where the stains were.

The last thing she wanted to see was blood—anyone's blood at that point.

Her head jerked upwards when her ears suddenly picked up the sound of running footsteps. She scrambled to her feet and drew the sword that Cleon had given her, hoping that she could handle it as easily as she did her glaive.

That made her wonder. Where was her glaive?

~~

Joren stopped running. He was almost positively sure that he had just heard the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath. He could almost picture the metal of the blade sliding against the edge of the scabbard. Having heard the sound so many times within the last week or so, he could identify it easily now.

He drew his own sword, silently, and continued to approach. He kept to the edge of the halls, trying to recall the trick that Selirithel had taught him. He halted again and leaned against the wall, eyeing the assortment of torches and sconces that lined the walls in distanced intervals. 

His fingers found a smooth black stone in his belt pouch. He held it up to his lips and blew gently on its surface. Down the entire passageway, the torches began to flicker out one by one. Finally, darkness overwhelmed the place.

With the cover of shadows, he continued on his way, sword in one hand. He reached in his belt pouch and drew a more marble sized stone that Selirithel had also given him. He would need it soon enough.

Sensitive hearing helped him find the other person in the hall. Whoever they were, he or she was breathing loudly enough for him to pinpoint the exact location. He tightened his grip on his sword and moved forward.

Without warning, he heard a whirring sound and jumped back. His opponent's sword clashed against the wall loudly. Joren had been heard as well. Gathering his wits, he prepared for his attack and threw the marble into the air.

He charged his opponent with an attack of his own as the marble exploded midair into a thousand bright sparks, lighting the hallway temporarily for Joren to see his target. As the yellow and orange light gave him a brief look, he pulled back his arm quickly and gasped.

Keladry stared back at him, sword held ready for upswing.

The sparks faded and it was pitch black again. Joren dropped his sword, as did she. The two blades clattered to the ground. At once, Joren and Keladry moved toward each other, hands reaching out blindly to feel the other.

"Is that really you?" Keladry whispered. Her fingers brushed over his neck and shoulders, eventually finding their way to cup his face. She was shocked to discover that she wasn't finding any of what she felt familiar, just maddening. She touched the stubble on his chin and the tips of his hair. Was it some trick they were playing on her? She wouldn't put it past Maggur or the other men to do this, too.

He likewise mimicked her movements, letting his hands roam over her waist and her back. He drew her closer and buried his face in her hair. At least he recognized her without having to see her with his eyes. The smell of her hair, the uncertainty in her touch. There was no doubt in his mind. Joren knew what salvation felt like. It was Keladry.

Both of them were gasping for breath as if they couldn't get enough air. The surprise of the moment had nearly made their hearts stop beating. After a few moments, Joren loosened his grip so he could retrieve a match from his belt pouch. He struck it and raised the flame toward an extinguished torch. With a main source of light again to see her face, Joren simply gazed at her face with a blank expression. Keladry frowned slightly. She had been certain that he would be glad to see her when she finally found him.

Joren let his hands drop to his sides. He peered at her intently. "Why… why are you here?"

"You never answered my messages," she replied quietly. "I thought I had lost you, too."

The blond man smirked slightly. "I've been shot, stabbed with razor sharp feathers, thrown off a roof, and burned. Do you really think that a bunch of snow and rocks is going to stop me?"

She smiled. "Maybe someone should attempt to drown you just to round everything out."

He came closer, raising his hand to cup her cheek again. "You made me choke on my breakfast once. Does that count?"

"Maybe," she whispered and leaned forward to kiss him.

It didn't happen. Joren's smile disappeared and he withdrew again. Confused, she moved toward him. He shook his head and seemed to be looking at something else: his hand. He glanced back and forth from his palm to the side of her face that he had been touching. It was red with blood.

He grabbed her arms and began turning them over in his hands. He felt her shoulders and her neck, and even glanced down at her legs to determine the cause. "What happened? Are you injured?"

As he found the source of the blood on the front of her shirt, Keladry struggled out of his grip. "No! No, not me! It's Faleron, Joren. It's his blood."

That caused the former operative to stop. He would have breathed a sigh of relief if his attention hadn't been drawn to what she had just said. "King? What happened? Is he dead?"

"He might be soon," she replied sorrowfully. She sighed. "I know. It's our own fault. We shouldn't have come. If I'd only trusted you to come back, then we wouldn't be here and Faleron wouldn't be dying—"

"Don't get into hysterics now," he warned harshly. He gripped her by the shoulders again and gently shook her. "You need to tell me what has happened. Everything."

Keladry managed to relate all that had happened, from being employed by Daine as a cover, to being captured by the hunters, and all the way to Faleron being shot by the crossbow. It was like going to a confessional. She felt like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders. Joren would know what to do. He always did. And though Keladry was quite capable of handling problems on her own, she simply felt better knowing that she wasn't going to handle them alone.

When she finished her tale, he picked up his sword again and sheathed it. He didn't speak to her at first. Instead, he rummaged through his other pockets looking for something else. 

"Joren?"

His hand closed around the object he had been looking for. He squeezed it tightly in his hand, but did not show it to her yet. "I'll help Cleon and take care of getting your brothers and the other hostages out. I need you to stay with Faleron."

"I can help you!" she protested.

"I know you can," he answered calmly.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the infirmary. "But you need me to look after Fal."

"Yes. He's as defenseless as a newborn babe and I wouldn't trust any doctor here. You'll need to protect him. You know that."

Her heart burned. Keladry hadn't expected the disappointment of being denied his company to bother her so much. After fearing the worst, he was finally back with her. Nevertheless, he had to leave her again to join Cleon. She knew Cleon would need all the help he could get. The redhead would be so distracted by worrying thoughts for his friends that he wouldn't be able to tame any dragon.

Joren took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. He noticed that she was trying to restrain emotions from being displayed. She used to be such a good actress when it came to those things. The skill of impassivity had faded.

He pressed something into her hand. She could feel it as something oval shaped. Smooth but hard—a stone? It was connected to a kind of chain. She could only feel it with her fingers since he was still pressing it very firmly against her skin.

"I just called Neal with this. He's coming to meet me halfway from here," he explained. "He's safe, too. No injuries, I promise. We're going to meet up with the other men—don't ask. I'll explain later." He hesitated before putting his arms around her and hugging her tightly. His lips pressed against her earlobe. He whispered, "Keep this with you. We'll be able to find you with it. And if you meet anyone else with a stone like this, trust them."

"Okay," she said. She held up the small opal so she could see it. "I'll trust them."

"Kel?"

"Yes?" She partially hoped that he would say something that would encourage her. With Joren, however, encouragement was stifled and muted. 

He looked at her, his face serious and businesslike once again. "I need you to tell me exactly where your brothers and their crew is."

After she had given him detailed directions on how to reach the room, he let go and began checking his other weapons and equipment. Keladry stepped back, unsure of what else to do. She wrapped her arms around herself and sighed. For men like Joren, being a hero came first… love second.

But of course, he would never consider himself a hero. Joren looked at her again. Without another thought, he moved forward and caught her lips with his. He lingered there longer than he should have, trying to memorize the softness of her lips and her shallow breathing. She tasted faintly of a fruit juice she had drunk during lunch. It was nice to think that something so simple existed in that dark place.

He kissed her again and again, allowing her to leak out all the anxieties that had plagued her since their separation. His strong arms encircled her waist as her arms wrapped around his neck. His lips trailed down her jaw and neck. He held her tighter and breathed in deeply. She had done more than save him from his own demons.

She loved him, too. And he'd be damned if he ever figured out why he loved her back.

"Neal's waiting," he told her quietly. She reluctantly let him go. 

"When you see Cleon," Keladry mentioned. "Don't… don't tell him that Fal is… Tell him that he's fine. Just say that he's going to be okay."

Joren nodded. He ran back into the shadows as quickly as he had come. No goodbyes. Joren didn't believe in proper goodbyes. She knew that much. Keladry picked up her sword again and put it back in its scabbard. She lifted the torch from its sconce in one hand and began to light the others around the infirmary door. The fingertips of her free hand touched her lips. She was almost afraid that none of it was real.

Then her eyes landed on the opal that hung from her wrist. She held it up to the light and wondered what kind of place Joren had been to obtain such treasures.

~~

Neal leaned his quarterstaff against the wall and readied his slingshot. He had sensed from his own opal that Joren meant to meet him. Yet, checking his opal again, it indicated that Joren hadn't moved from his initial spot. And it didn't even feel like Joren. He didn't know how he could tell the difference. The magic Selirithel had shown them was just as confusing as all the other things from Enishijirou.

He prayed to the gods that the blond hadn't been eaten by any sort of creature that would come after Neal as dessert.

After a while, he thought he heard an almost inaudible sound. Footsteps? No, not just that. Someone who knew how to hide any noise of walking. It wasn't quite perfect. It was sloppy, distracted. Neal frowned. He put back the lead pellet into his black pouch and drew a different projectile from his other pouch. He put it in the slingshot, pointed it in the darkness, and let it fly.

"ARGH! I am _so_ tired of being shot in the ass with berries!" a familiar voice bellowed angrily.

Neal cringed. Perhaps the creature looking for dessert would have been better.

Joren struck another match and lit a torch in its sconce on the wall. He glared at his partner, snatching the slingshot and using it to smack Neal hard in the shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry! I wasn't sure! Where's your opal?"

"I gave it to Kel."

Neal's jaw dropped, leaving his mouth open in a very unflattering way. "What's she doing here?"

"She, Kennan, and King followed us because our communications were down. They meant to rescue us. The Black City captured them just like they captured her brothers." He went on to explain the unfortunate details of Cleon and the prophecy, Maggur's threat, and Faleron's possibly fatal wounding. Then he related his own plan. "Use your opal to locate Borealize. Have him summon a couple of wolves for us so we can catch up to Cleon. Then he and Selirithel will rescue Kel's brothers and the crew."

"What about Liam?"

Joren paused. "I suppose he'll want to go back to Enishijirou to warn them about the dragon and the Black City's mobilization."

Neal groaned while picking up his quarterstaff. "Mobilization? You're talking as if there's going to be a war—and I'm not sure if you remember, but my marks in Advanced Strategy and Tactics were not exactly admirable."

"Yeah, I do remember. I'm surprised you didn't flunk," Joren muttered. He took the torch in one hand and drew his sword with the other. "Come on. Let's find Borealize before we run out of time."

They ran down the hall in the direction that Neal's opal directed them. Luckily, Borealize was close by. The hall curved and branched out in many directions. They passed many doors, but not the ones that they were looking for. At last, they came to a dead end at a small black door. The passage there was well swept, indicating that this was a frequently used servants' entrance. Neal put his ear against the door to listen for any noise on the other side.

He picked up just the slightest noise. It sounded like some sort of cloth sliding against the floor. He pressed his head closer to the door and closed his eyes. Perhaps the person would leave soon. Neal certainly hoped so. Borealize hadn't sensed that they were nearby; he was moving further away.

Joren turned to the darkness of the hallway again. He narrowed his eyes. "Queenscove."

"I'm somewhat busy right now, Stone."

The blond nudged him with his elbow hard in the ribs. "I don't think she cares."

At that, Neal frowned and whirled around to face whoever Joren was speaking about. His mouth dropped open once again. He swallowed convulsively, throat parched with apprehension and fear.

A woman stood a few feet away from them, at the edge of the light cast from the torch. She wore a revealing white dress—more like a bed sheet that was cut and sewn together with the utmost haste. She ran the tip of her tongue over her full lips, revealing to them her very pointed teeth. Her dark, shadowy eyes watched them with great anticipation.

"You're not one of our guests," she hissed, lingering on the 'S' sounds like they imagined a snake would talk. She caressed her own collarbone with knife-sharp nails, tapping her fingers across her own shoulders. "Hmm… makes me ticklish here just thinking about what I should do to you."

"Summon Borealize," Joren whispered to Neal. He put the torch on the floor so that his other hand was free to grip his sword as well.

Neal squeezed the opal in his hand, thinking of their other comrade. He reached for his quarterstaff reflexively. He didn't know if they could battle whatever this feminine, vampire-looking thing of darkness was. The fact that they were two against one didn't even comfort him. She simply looked so _creepy_.

Joren swung his sword at the succubus. She leapt back with the greatest of ease, giggling as she did so. He pursued her, thrusting his sword forward. He launched a series of attacks, but she managed to outmaneuver him every single time.

Neal began to approach warily. He thought for a second that it might be more useful to have his slingshot. He reached for the pouch of lead pellets again, only to discover it missing.

"Looking for something?" a feminine voice whispered into his ear right before sharp teeth sank into his neck.

He screamed. Grabbing fistful of hair, he yanked hard. He tore out chunks of blond. The succubus shrieked. She let go and touched her scalp where her precious locks had been. His blood dribbled down her chin. She sneered and leapt at him again.

He grabbed his staff and thrust it out, just in time. He shoved her through the opened door and into the next room.

Joren was not having better luck. He glanced over his shoulder at Neal. "Get the torch!"

His partner grabbed the torch and held it out in front of him, warding off his own attacker with the fire. She hissed at him and stayed where she was. Neal moved out of the servants' hall and into the room. Joren followed, still refusing to turn his back on the other.

"Must you be so hurtful?" the one in front of Joren asked, fluttering her eyelashes. She fingered the straps on her dress, pushing her chest forward. "It'll be fun… Just give in and it will feel _so_ good…"

The two men stood back to back again. Idly, Neal noticed that they had been doing that more and more often. Keladry would have been pleased to see them cooperating so well. However, she wouldn't have been happy to see that they were being circled by a pair of she-demons and being eyed like pieces of meat.

Not that he hadn't gotten that look before. Neal was quite used to getting that look.

His neck was throbbing from the bite. He grimaced. "I don't think I'll ever be able to let myself get a hickey again. Too traumatized."

"I'm sure all female kind will be devastated," Joren replied sarcastically. He tried to look for an opening, any opening at all. He adjusted his footing and wondered if he could actually surprise the succubus that had dodged him before.

Neal lowered his torch slightly. He gingerly touched his neck, wincing again. The one who had bitten him cooed. 

"I won't bite this time. I promise… just let me show you pleasure. You'll never want any mortal woman ever again…"

He glared at her. "Sorry, babe. I draw the line at creatures of darkness. Especially ugly ones."

Enraged, she flew at him. Neal waved the torch in front of him frantically, trying to light some part of her dress on fire. Long sharp nails raked across his arms. She tore at his still bandaged arm that Neal had injured during the wolf attack. He stifled a cry of pain and tried to shove the fire into her face.

Suddenly, the succubae both shrieked like banshees, falling to their knees. Joren and Neal gasped at first. Then they realized what had happened. Throwing knives were imbedded in their legs, causing the she-demons to fall.

Liam and Borealize rushed to their comrades, both armed with more throwing knives and another torch. 

"Quick! Burn them! Behead them!" Liam shouted.

"Die!" one of the succubae screamed as she yanked the knives from her legs and prepared to strike with the blades in her hands. 

Joren turned quickly and swung his sword forward. Thanks to the previous wounds in her legs, she could not move fast enough. The blade cut into her flesh easier than he had expected. He put his weight behind the blow and took the head clean off.

A spray of blood hit him in the face. He closed his eyes and turned away as the body fell to the ground, the severed head rolling across the floor away from him. He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and averted his eyes from the fresh crimson pool.

Borealize and Neal made short work of the other one. They thrust their torches at her both at the same time. While she tried to defend herself, Liam used his own sword to quickly behead her. The charred body and head hit the stone floor with a sickening thud.

The four men looked at each other morosely. Neal felt like he was going to vomit out all his innards. He walked away from the gory sight and sat down on the floor. Borealize approached him with a torn cloth already prepared to help clean off Neal's wound.

Joren wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He approached Liam.

"I felt you call Borealize. What's happened now?" Liam asked. His tone was very subdued, no trace of malice to be found. His hatred for Joren was temporarily forgotten due to the current circumstances.

The former operative once again repeated all that he had been told by Keladry. He included his own suggestions, which brought a crooked smile to the other man's lips. They were both breathing hard from the encounter and now grinned at each other like insane, bloodthirsty heathens.

"I'll go and warn him. It will take me a few days to reach the City, but I can do it." He walked over to one of the bodies and began pulling his knives out and wiping them on the soiled white dresses. He found Neal's bag of lead pellets and threw them in the officer's general direction. "Just make sure you kill as many of these blasted demons as possible."

"And rescue the hostages," Neal added absently. He flinched again as Borealize continued cleaning his wound. "You guys were right. This _is_ some sort of living hell."

Liam nodded. "You will see far worse sooner than you think." He faced Joren. "All right then. Go help your redheaded friend. Try to slay the dragon if you can. No sense in taming the beast so he can attack our City."

"It's not_ my _City," Joren snapped.

"It is now."

Borealize finished wrapping the bandage and stood up. He bowed to Neal, then Joren. "The wolves will be waiting for you outside the city walls. They should be able to sniff out your friend, especially if he's traveling by himself. I shall join Selirithel and rescue the others."

Joren gave him the directions that Keladry had told him. Borealize bowed again to them. He gathered his own knives from the other dead succubus and cleaned them off as Liam did. Neal turned away, swallowing convulsively. Despite being a First Class officer of the DJPF (and therefore having more experience than he cared to have), there were some things that still made Neal's gut twist in horrible ways.

"We'll part ways from here, then," Liam said to all of them. He spared another glance at Joren. He wanted to ask about Keladry, Joren could tell. The words never came. Lips pursed, he turned his back on Joren and clenched his fists. The subject wouldn't be brought up between. It couldn't.

Liam whistled to Borealize. They took their torch and retreated the way that they came. Neal picked up his pellets and stood up, touching the bandage on his neck. He walked toward Joren and exhaled deeply.

"I am seriously considering taking a vow of chastity after those last two demonic chicks. I won't be able to look at cleavage the same way ever again," he muttered, smirking. Just as Neal expected, Joren didn't miss a beat. 

"You'd be doing the gene pool a great favor, Queenscove. Trust me."

~~

Keladry awoke with a jerk. She had fallen asleep in a chair that she had pulled up beside Faleron's bed. For a moment there, she could have sworn she had heard a long animalistic screech from outside. Considering what she now knew about the mysterious Black City, she wouldn't be surprised if it was real.

She turned her gaze toward her resting friend. He was working up a strong fever. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. Keladry dipped a cloth into a bowl of water on the beside table. She laid it across his forehead and touched his cheek with her palm.

Faleron stirred in his sleep. He groaned a little, tossing his head from side to side on the pillows. Keladry shushed him and moved the cloth so she could dab at his cheeks and neck.

He was very pale. He had always been a bit pale, but now his skin was almost translucent. Keladry was afraid of being able to trace veins along the inside of his arm soon. White cloth bandages were wrapped around his bare abdomen. No, the wound wouldn't kill him. But the poison and the fever might.

The last person to deserve any of this was Faleron, she decided. He had already suffered so much during his lifetime. He had not endured as much as Joren, but much more than the rest of them. Sent away to boarding school. Never saw his loveless parents until they were arrested. Becoming desperate enough to be a thief. She recalled the night that she, Joren, and Cleon had arrested him. They had been forced to shoot him, a clean wound. The bullet had done very little more than clip him in the side. He had been so ashamed when he recalled his younger cousin viewing Faleron as a role model. Remorse was his cornerstone.

Then… Scanra. Faleron had only tried to help the poor family that had been attacked in their home. And he was almost executed for it. She couldn't imagine what psychological horrors had been created in his mind that long sleepless night in jail. He had probably blamed himself for their deaths. He must have called himself a million rotten things, fighting off the fear that would make him break down sobbing. Those were the hours when Faleron King had sorrowfully prepared to breathe his last. He was never the same again.

A choked cry caught her attention. Keladry leaned over him again, dipping the cloth into the cool water and pressing it against to his burning forehead. She whispered random words of comfort into his ear, trying to get him to fall into a peaceful slumber. His fitful sleep was painful to watch.

Almost as painful as the life he had lived.

~~

Author's note: 

Poor, poor Fal. He doesn't deserve this pain, does he? I know. It hurts to see him likes this. But for all purposes, this is the way the story goes! And it least he got some onscreen comedic lines before it happened! I apologize for the succubae deciding to rain on Joren and Neal's parade (my word choice… it's horrible…). And it's too bad that the highly awaited Kel and Joren reunion was shadowed by such darkness on all sides. It's the Black City. Evil, evil, evil…

Next episode! ICBW3, episode 15: The Quest

Cleon begins his quest to tame the dragon! Will Joren and Neal catch up to him in time? What about Kel's brothers and the crew! (gasp) To the characters' shock, there will be a hurtful betrayal…

So! Tell me what you think. Emails and reviews appreciated!

Hopefully the next episode won't be as depressing…


	15. The Quest

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 15: The Quest**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: PG-13 for adventuring, the usual tiny amount of cursing, and more surprise than our characters would like…

~~

Distraction was not one of the best things to bring on a quest. The word 'quest' itself contained many connotations: danger, peril, heroism, and most of all, devotion to one's cause. Cleon had very little desire to face the first three. And he had no trace of devotion at all to the cause. His quest was a forced one. If anything, he was dedicated to the notion of beating the chamberlain, Maggur, to a bloody pulp. 

If only Faleron hadn't been hurt. Cleon knew it was partially his fault. If he hadn't begged Faleron to help… If only he hadn't fit the description in the prophecy… His best friend would not be lying in some grim castle surrounded by macabre sights and sounds, all the while wounded and sick with poison.

He wondered how much time he would have to get the dragon and return to the Black City. They had directed him toward a cluster of caverns hidden among the mountain terrain. According to the map, the legendary Lake that they spoke of was somewhere underground, aglow with the light of the sleeping dragon.

No one had ever seen the Lake. Well, at least they knew of one. A sacrifice had been kidnapped from further west. She (for indeed, they had needed a virtuous maiden) had been discovered to be incompatible for the ritual. So, they had thrown her to the caverns so she could eventually find her way to the dragon and be eaten. It had been a joke, really. They never expected her to find the Lake… just die alone in the rocky confines.

Cleon kept his hand close to the map. He did not want to be lost in the caves and stumble over the skeleton of a misfortunate girl. It was bad enough that he had to coerce a dragon to join his side, when, really, it wasn't even _his_ side. He had no desire to attack the Kingdom of Enishijirou. Who were they anyway? As far as Cleon had heard, the two lost civilizations hadn't confronted each other in decades.

He forced himself to forget the reasons of his anger. He would need concentration to battle the odds and win. After all, he was facing a dragon. And what did he have? A blowtorch (tiny in comparison to what a large dragon probably had) and a crossbow. He also had his gun, but there were a finite number of bullets left in the magazine. Maybe the gods would be ironic. The dragon's scales could be bulletproof.

_You don't want to kill the dragon. It has minded its own business all these centuries. All you want to do is rescue Fal! Nothing personal against the large lizard,_ he told himself. He found a part of the cave wall that jutted out and hung his lantern there. There was a fork in the cavern's paths and he had no idea which way to turn.

The map was difficult to read. It had been made so long ago that the ink had faded and the edges were badly torn. He finally located where he had come from and traced a line representing what he thought had been his journey.

"This doesn't make sense. There should be… a ledge maybe? A pit?" He frowned. It would be just his luck if an avalanche had changed the structure of the cave.

A rock fell to the ground behind him. Cleon whirled around, eyes wide, hand on his gun. As far as he could see, nothing nearby had fallen. He peered into the shadows. His imagination was playing tricks on him.

Again, he heard a strange scraping sound in the darkness. Rocks and pebbles moving against each other, perhaps. Cleon wished he had asked about any animals that dwelled in the area. That would make sense. Rats, maybe?

_Right. Rats,_ he thought. _Here? In the snowy mountains? I'm losing it._

"Hello?" he called weakly. Having received no response, he turned back around and picked up the lantern. Just the same, he tucked his map back into his belt and reached for his gun again. 

Before he could, something tiny struck his hand. He yelped and shook his hand to rid himself of the painful feeling. He looked down. There was a reddish paste covering his skin. He brought it to his nose and sniffed it.

"That almost smells like… food…"

"It _is_ food, dummy. They're berries. And I have to waste it on you. How sad."

Cleon looked up. He immediately grinned. "Neal! Stone!" He could have jumped for joy. "What are you guys doing here? We've been looking all—"

The sharpshooter stopped mid-sentence when his friends were completely in the range of the lantern. The two formerly missing men were seated upon the backs of two huge wolves, looking as comfortable as if they were riding mules. The wolves were likewise comfortable, licking their chops. The beasts slowly got onto their bellies to allow their riders to disembark.

Neal stroked his mount's head affectionately. "Don't worry about these guys. They're with us."

"And we're with you," Joren added. "So let's get this over with. We'll kill the dragon and go back."

Cleon couldn't tear his gaze away from the two large animals. He gulped. "We… we can't kill the dragon. I have to bring it back with me or else they won't give the antidote to Faleron."

"We don't need their antidote," Joren replied. "We can take him back with us to Enishijirou, into the City. Enishi will heal him."

"How do you know that?" Neal asked. He shrugged. "I never heard anyone mention healing powers."

His partner looked away. Joren's eyes were troubled, as if he couldn't reassure himself enough of what he wanted to believe. "He can. I know he can."

"Well, if it's all just the same, I'd rather not risk it," Cleon insisted. "I'm going to bring that dragon back with us. And if the prophecy is right, I'll be in control of this thing anyway. I can make it attack the Black City instead."

"Fine. _If_ you can tame that thing and make it listen to you. Let's go. We'll explain the rest of what happened on the way," he said. 

They remounted the wolves, Cleon riding on Neal's more docile one. The redhead was still apprehensive about the large creatures, but he put up with it for the sake of saving time. He was still overcoming the shock of seeing his two friends again where he least expected them. He was supposed to have come to their rescue. Not the other way around.

As they swiftly traveled along, Cleon looked over at Joren, who was moving up and down with the motion of the wolf beneath him. He squeezed the lantern handle tighter.

"Hey, Stone."

"What?"

"How… How is Fal doing? Did you see him?"

The blond turned his head toward him. He paused. "He's fine, Cleon. He's doing very well."

Neal now glanced at Joren, trying to hide a smile. He knew it was difficult for Joren to relate to anyone, even Kel. Seeing him lie for Cleon's sake was a vast improvement from heartlessly telling the truth. The former operative hadn't even noticed that he had addressed Cleon by his first name.

_Good for him._

~~

Borealize looked out the window of the tower. He could barely see the city walls because of the cover of night. He knew that somewhere along those walls, Liam would be just about ready to depart for Enishijirou. It was important that he did. Many years had passed since any large scale attacks between the two hidden cities. 

A dragon was not something to be taken lightly. It wouldn't befriend a lonely soul like dragons did in children's tales. It would act as dragons have acted in older, more serious tales. Breathing fire, destroying cities—general and absolute mayhem for the unfortunate city.

He did not look forward to seeing his beautiful home reduced to a pile of rubble and smoldering ruin. Where would he go? Borealize was not like his dear cousin, Shinkokami. The wolves would take care of her because her blood was pure. He possessed impure blood from a western grandparent, one he hadn't even met. The wolves would soon grow annoyed at his presence and abandon him after a few months. Then he would have no choice but to wander west toward the modern world with the rest of Enishijirou's peasant population.

Borealize had no intention of ever doing that. He would help stop the Black City from carrying out its plan. But first, he had to fulfill his duties and rescue the poor helpless westerners. If only they realized how lucky they were to have him on their side.

He had sent to Selirithel a message saying to follow him. Words were not actually formed. The opal could not do that. Instead, it transferred emotions and general ideas. Selirithel, being the owner of all the opals, could interpret their messages with great precision. The dark robed sorcerer would easily track Borealize down.

Dousing his torch and keeping it with him in case he might need it again, Borealize drew two of his throwing knives and whispered a prayer to the gods for swiftness and accuracy. He was taught that it was always better to incapacitate the enemy as quickly as possible so the enemy would not have the chance to strike back.

Several soldiers patrolled the corridor leading to the Mithrans' room. Borealize retreated down the corridor he came from. He found a dusty storage room and hid inside. Though it was pitch black, he didn't move to light the torch again. So, he sat on the floor and waited.

Eventually, a soft knock jarred Borealize's silent meditation. He touched his opal and sensed that the owner of a matching stone was on the other side of the door. Without another delay, he opened the door.

"The ones we seek are in a nearby room," he told his comrade as he let him inside. "I have not yet planned a way to get to it without killing every unworthy man in my path."

Selirithel drew a large splinter shaped rock from his many hidden pockets. White, long fingered hands shone blue when the rock itself began to glow. Borealize recognized it as the same mineral that lined the tunnels of their City. They reminded him of home and put his mind at ease. He closed the door, being glad not to be in the darkness any longer.

"I had sensed that four untainted vessels were in this area. And truly, there do seem to be many guards." His hand disappeared among the folds of his robes again. He held his hand out to Borealize. In his palm was a dime-sized red stone. "Place this under your tongue and keep one hand on my back. We shall pass by them and they shall not see us."

His companion frowned. "An invisibility charm?"

The sorcerer-warrior smirked. Borealize could barely see his face from under the hood of the robes. "No. Nothing so trite. They shall simply not notice our presence because I do not wish them to."

Borealize didn't understand the nature of the magic tricks Selirithel used. According to the vast network of family trees within Enishijirou, they weren't even connected. Selirithel was of more royal origin, though he was also known to be a western half-breed. Borealize had purer blood, but he was of lower nobility. Sometimes, he could not comprehend the intricacies of magic that his very distant relation, King Enishi, used. But it was not nearly as confusing as Selirithel's mysterious explanations.

He obediently took the stone from his non-relative's hand and placed it underneath his tongue. Surprisingly, it tasted like mint leaves.

"Ready?"

"Yes." He drew a longer dagger from his belt this time and held it tightly. The wolf-caller placed his other hand on Selrithel's slim back and followed him out of the storage room.

The two men walked calmly down the corridor toward the group of patrolling soldiers. Selirithel proceeded slowly, as if in a trance. Borealize followed, slightly nervous. He watched the faces of the men they passed. None of them noticed.

They came to a stop in front of two guards. The guards leaned against a door, looking back and forth down the hall. Selirithel held up his hand and put them between the guards. He parted them slowly, pushing them until they moved of their own accordance. Borealize sucked in his breath. He had not expected it to work so well.

Selirithel leaned toward one of the guards. He whispered, "Give me the key to this room."

The guard continued glancing up and down the hall as he was doing before, but his hand had a mind of its own. It reached for the key ring on his belt and sorted through each until it found the correct one. He handed the key, still attached to the ring, to the sorcerer.

Deftly inserting the key in the lock and turning it, he turned to face Borealize. "Go in front of me. Put your dagger away, though."

Borealize, far past willing to question anything anymore, sheathed his dagger. He kept one hand on Selirithel's arm, careful not to break contact as he pushed the door open. He soon understood why his comrade had asked him to enter first.

"Die, asshole!" a man screamed as he tried to hit Borealize with the broken top of a chair. He immediately brought his other hand up and grabbed the other end of the wood. Selirithel calmly shook his arm free and closed the door behind them.

Another desperate man threw a pot at Borealize's head. He missed, of course. Being an airplane pilot had nothing to with good aim.

"Cease this!" Borealize commanded. "We are here to rescue you, good men of the west!"

The four Mithran civilians dropped their randomly grabbed objects on the ground with relief. Since Cleon's departure, they had been given stale bread and dirty water. Most of their luxuries had been stripped from the room. Even their former attendants seemed eager to take advantage of the king's absence to steal a "bite" or two.

"Who are you?" the other pilot asked.

"My name is Borealize and his is Selirithel. We were sent by friends of the brave woman Keladry Mindelan. You have met her, I assume?"

They nodded in reply, still somewhat shocked.

Selirithel narrowed his eyes as his gaze swept the room. "There are only four of you present. Where are the other two? The brothers Mindelan?"

"We don't know," another man answered. "All of a sudden, we just noticed that they were gone. It was before they started treating us badly again. At noon, I think." 

Borealize turned to his partner. "Do you sense them?"

The sorcerer held his hands up to shoulder height. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The men around him tensed as they felt a wave radiate out. It made them shiver. He opened his eyes again and sighed.

"There are two in one direction and two in another. I cannot tell the difference from here."

"Shall we seek both pairs out?"

"No. I have been most fortunate to elude the Black City's dark wizards. If I were to face them alone, or with you, perhaps I would be victorious. We cannot protect our charges at the same time." He glanced at the four Mithrans. "Have you any weapons?"

The man who had attacked Borealize with the chair pointed to a corner. "We've broken off bedposts and table legs for clubs."

Borealize nodded. "It will have to suffice."

"We shall fight our way out from this despicable place. My magic cannot stretch over six persons." He paused and drew his hood back slightly to have a better look at his partner's face. "Speaking of which, have you my stone?"

"I…" the other man cringed. "I believe I swallowed it when I valiantly fought off the chair. I apologize, my comrade! I shall return it to you when the stone has passed through my body."

The sorcerer shook his head and almost sardonically replied, "Trust me, friend. You can keep it."

~~

Keladry couldn't leave the infirmary without having a dozen pairs of eyes following her. Soldiers patrolled all of the main hallways now. They would not let her pass into her room to retrieve clothing or food. Everything had to be delivered to her instead. 

It wasn't so bad, she supposed. She shouldn't have been leaving Faleron's side anyway. He needed her to protect him from suspicious doctors and the chamberlain, Maggur. She had not seen him since he led Cleon away. Nor did she want to see him ever again. Keladry couldn't trust herself to not kill him if he was within range.

That would be a bad move, in any case. According to her own amateur knowledge (thanks to Battlefield Medicine class at the Academy), she could tell that the wound from the bolt was not infected, and that it would eventually heal. The ribs would heal as well, although it would take a bit longer and Faleron would have to be very careful. Those things didn't worry her anymore. 

His fever had come down from its peak yesterday, but it was still there. He almost woke up a few times. Keladry had done all she could to try to cool him down or ease the pain. Unfortunately, she didn't bring any aspirin with her on the trip. And even if she had, it probably would have been taken away. Knowing that he would have a worse headache if he were dehydrated, Keladry attempted to drip tiny amounts of water into his mouth. Though he was technically unconscious, he swallowed reflexively. Since the doses were small, she repeated this every ten minutes. 

_I wonder if there's a medieval bedpan,_ she thought idly, almost half amused. _The water has to go somewhere if he doesn't sweat it out._  A moan from Faleron drew her attention again. She fanned his face with a folded piece of parchment and shushed him motherly again. He fell back into a quiet sleep.

A knocking sound reached her ear. She reluctantly got up from her bedside chair and approached the door.  The castle surgeons and healers had retreated to their own offices. They came by the hour, doing little to nothing for Faleron except making low sounds of hopelessness. Keladry alone stayed in the infirmary with the sick man.

"Hello?" She opened the door and stepped backwards.

A dark robed figure bowed to her. The soldier behind him bowed as well. The visitor turned to the soldier and nodded to him, lifting his hood and giving the soldier an impatient look. "You may return to your post now. I am in no need of your presence here."

"Yes, Master Inness," the soldier saluted and marched away.

Keladry, outraged, slammed the door shut. She turned to her elder brother, disbelief in her eyes. "This is _not_ happening."

Inness sighed. He folded his hands in front of him and offered a remorseful expression. "It's not as bad as you think."

"Bad! Inness, this is beyond bad!"

He placed his hands on his sister's shoulders in attempt to calm her down. She swatted his hands away and retreated to Faleron's bedside. Inness followed her and sat down on an adjacent bed. The rosy color in his cheeks showed his embarrassment.

"Look, Kel. I can explain."

She glared at him. "I hope you can."

Her brother nervously played with his left sleeve. The robes engulfed his thin body, even more so than the advisors of the royal court. If his cheeks had been gaunt and if his hair was completely black, he could have passed for one of those evil-minded men.

"Before lunch, most of the men were taking another nap, too bored to do anything else. Conal and I were the only ones awake again. So I was the only one who saw a man enter. The usual attire—black robes, yadda yadda. He didn't look like he wanted to speak with us, but Conal did anyway. I couldn't hear, but I thought it sounded like Conal wanted to stay in the Black City and serve the king."

"You're lying," Keladry said flatly.

"I wish I was," he replied sadly. "The man seemed happy about something Conal said, so I ran up to them and said that I would like to do the same as him. Conal glared at me, but he didn't say anything. So they took us away."

Keladry shook her head. "Wait, so they just took you away and made you one of them? Just like that?"

Inness gestured to his clothing. "Yeah. Just like that. I'm more worried about Conal, though. He meant whatever he said."

"I see."  No, she didn't see. How could Conal do this? What had he said that was of such an interest to that man? She had her guesses, but it was not the biggest problem in her mind. Her brother had switched allegiances—if he'd had any allegiances in the first place. Keladry's shoulders visibly slumped. 

Inness moved forward and hugged his younger sister awkwardly. "We'll figure something out. In the meantime, I guess I'll stay here with you."

She blinked. "No."

He pulled away. "What do you mean no?"

"I said no. You should stay with Conal. Find out what he's up to. And… and keep him out of trouble."

He looked unsure. "I don't think I'll be capable of doing much, but I'll try."

They got up together and walked to the door. Keladry knew that Inness was very tense. He couldn't imagine himself ever doing something dangerous or risky. Her brother belonged in a classroom, behind a stack of books and papers. He liked it there. More importantly, he was meant to be there.

_Not here,_ she thought. _This is too much for him._ She hugged him again. Keladry whispered, "Everything is going to be fine. Just relax and watch Conal."

"Easier said than done," Inness replied, smiling. He opened the door. The soldier outside briefly saluted. Her brother nodded to him and lifted his hood over his head again. "Bye, baby sister."

"Bye," she called. _Big brother._

~~

"This is a lot cooler than I thought it'd be," Cleon remarked. He was referring to riding a giant wolf, of course. It was the only thing he could bring himself to talk about since Neal had taken the map and become the new navigator. Before then, he had chattered uselessly about the oddities drawn on the map in relation to how things were now. It hadn't helped.

Neal steered them up an incline and toward three different tunnels. His white juvenile wolf led the way, but stopped before it got to the top of the ledge. Joren, whose mount was sliding down the pebbly surface, jumped to the side onto a boulder. It tottered for a few seconds, then became still.

"Hey!" Joren called. "What's going on?"

Neal tried to urge his wolf upward, but it stayed rooted to the spot. "I don't know."

Cleon held the lantern up higher. He frowned. "Who is she?"

The two other men looked up. At the top of the ledge was a familiar Yamani woman with a stubborn mouth and fierce eyes. She sat atop another wolf, smaller than theirs, black and golden eyed. It trotted forward a few steps until it was on the edge, looking down. Neal's wolf backed down a couple of steps until it started sliding as Joren's had done. Then it too jumped to the side onto a more level surface.

"Shinkokami," Joren said dryly. "What are you doing here?"

The wild woman turned toward the blond with disdain. "My kinsman Borealize asked me to take a pack of wolves to this region so he could call on them when he needed them. But I assumed my cousin would need more help than that."

Neal gulped. "You know, your cousin and I… we got along very well. He tells me a lot about you."

_Old habits die hard,_ Joren observed. "He only tells you because you nag him."

"Dude! Somebody want to fill me in, here?" Cleon piped up.

"Well, Cleon," Neal began before he was interrupted.

Shinkokami turned and started toward the middle tunnel. "Do it along the way."

"Along the way, along the way!" the sharpshooter echoed irritably. "It's _always_ having to be explained along the—"

"CLEON!" three voices shouted simultaneously. The sound echoed throughout the caverns, startling a few rodents who _did_ live in the snowy mountains.

~~

Author's note: Yay! I think at the rate I'm going, I might be able to finish the season before I graduate… (a difficult thing to do, now that I look upon the coming year's agenda) Thank you all for your reviews and your feedback. I appreciate them very much and I look forward to future comments/criticisms.

So! Some of you knew it was going to be Conal who betrayed them. Quite obvious, myself, thanks to the last episode I posted that had his thoughts in it. But now the question is, _what_ has he proposed to the royal advisors that made them so interested?

I wasn't going to write a scene from Borealize and Selirithel's point of views, but I thought it was a nice change. Selirithel kind of reminds me of Severus Snape in a non-Snape kind of way. Okay, that didn't make sense. I blame my friend's fanfiction influences. I have never read Harry Potter, nor do I ever plan to. The fanfiction is an entirely different thing.

Thanks again for reading!

-Sulia


	16. Breath of Fire

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 16: Breath of Fire**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: PG-13 for adventuring, the usual tiny amount of cursing, and more surprise than our characters would like…

~~

They had more luck when Shinkokami navigated. Joren had the slightest suspicion that she had been through these caverns before, but she kept insisting that she had never traveled that far away from the City. He didn't believe her, but there was nothing to be done about it. Still, her sense of direction was admirable. The four dragon-seekers found more and more tunnels and entryways that seemed to be manmade. It was a definite sign that they were getting closer and closer to the Lake… or else walking into a trap.

Neal meanwhile lapsed into his object-of-affection watching that aroused the annoyance of everyone else present. He knew that there was much more to dwell upon (saving the City of Enishijirou, for one), but he couldn't help it. The more Shinkokami ignored him, the more hopelessly smitten he felt. Eventually, he tore his gaze away from Shinkokami long enough to form another more relevant train of thought. He turned to Joren. "Exactly how do we go about taking control of a dragon?"

"Ask the red monkey clinging to your back," Joren replied.

Cleon's face flushed red. "I don't know anything. The prophecy didn't have details. They just expected me to do it."

"Less talking, more searching. And have caution! There may be traps," Shinkokami warned gravely, her darting eyes showing that her attention was barely on them. Neal blushed and turned away. 

They traveled silently after that. The tunnels began to fan out until they were in chambers as wide as fifteen or twenty feet. They stopped when they spotted something out of the ordinary. So far, they had seen bare faces of rock. How the tunnels curved and branched off had been the only indication of any human presence. Now, on the wall to their left, a carved outline of a fire spread across five cubic feet. 

Joren was the first to approach it. He took off one glove and touched his hand to a groove in the rock. He jerked his hand away quickly.

"It's hot. The whole thing is burning hot."

"I can feel it from here," Shinkokami added. She went closer anyway and held her hands out to the carving without actually touching it. She unsheathed her dagger and stabbed the point into the shallow grooves. Dirt and dust fell away. "I think this goes far deeper. Perhaps it is a giant plug to a passageway."

The men dismounted from the wolves and drew their own blades and points. They began to thoroughly clear the grooves from all the dirt. Shinkokami was right. The grooves went deeper, almost making it seem as if the fire was a puzzle piece that could not be rotated or shifted, merely pushed into place. The stone gave off waves of heat, but no one dared to shed a single garment. They all knew that they needed the barrier of cloth as protection. Even the wolves shied away into the shadows for coolness.

Joren examined their work. "We should try pushing this through."

"And burn our hands off, sure," Cleon rolled his eyes.

The blond glared at him. He studied the wall, then the ground they stood upon. Finally, he laid a hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'll brace against you and push with my feet. You two do the same."

So Neal put his arms under Joren's armpits as if he were about to put a headlock on his partner. As Joren put both his feet against the wall, bending his knees, Neal angled himself and dug the heels of his boots into the dirt. Shinkokami and Cleon copied them, though Cleon was very reluctant to get that close to the wild girl. His cheeks were pink the entire time he had contact with her, trying to look away as she shoved with her raised legs.

Together they pushed at the fire block until the flame-shaped rock began to move. After a couple more attempts, the fire rock fell backwards with a large crash. It had been in a wall two feet thick. Underneath the block had been a loose mixture of gravel and dirt on a declining slope, having made it easier for them to move such a humongous rock. A cloud of dust arose, obscuring their vision. When it cleared, they backed away instinctively. The heat was suddenly unbearable. Neal found himself shielding his face and looking away.

"Please tell me that is _not_ a pool of lava!" he exclaimed.

"It's red and orange Jell-O," Joren answered dryly.

Cleon groaned, ducking his head behind the white wolf's massive body in the shadows. "I wish! Remember, _I'm_ the one who has to call the dragon from the pit of Hell!"

The new chamber was a large place filled with jagged rocks. These rocks framed the Olympic sized pool of lava, which seemed to bubble and swirl about at its leisure, its source not visible to them, but hidden deep under. Wisps of smoke drifted upwards to the high but smooth ceiling. Any rocks that had been above had dropped or eventually melted off by the extreme temperatures. The smoke caused the stone there to be utterly black.

Another smooth surface was untouched behind the pool of lava. It spanned a circular space about thirty feet in diameter. The way the light reflected off its surface, it almost appeared to be an altar of obsidian.

"We can't go inside. It's just too hot!" Cleon protested. "Maybe we could just go back and say that the dragon burnt itself to a crisp in that lava."

Shinkokami slowly raised her hand to the top of the new doorway. "It may be wise to cover our bodies as much as we can before we enter. The heat is still endurable for a few steps, but we must keep to the walls of the cave. Any closer and it would be too dangerous."

"I still have my goggles," Neal volunteered, eager to please her.

Joren snatched them away before Neal could offer them to Shinkokami. He threw them at Cleon, who winced when he caught them. Joren had quite a throwing arm. "You should wear them," the former operative sneered. "_You're_ the king."

The redheaded traded a murderous look with him. The last thing he wanted to do was lead them into that overgrown oven. The sweat was already soaking into his innermost layers. He couldn't imagine entering the same place as the lava pool. It was sheer insanity!

He studied the entire cave, even glancing up and down the wide tunnel they had traversed. He found nothing to his liking and sighed.

Suddenly, a cool breeze blew against the back of his neck. He shivered in spite of himself.

"There is an easier way," a feminine voice whispered. It was almost childlike in its pitch, a voice made to giggle and gasp in delight. Cleon closed his eyes and felt his body trembling again. He swallowed reflexively and blinked.

"Did you guys hear that?" he asked breathlessly.

Neal frowned. "No. Hear what?"

"A girl. She… some girl just said that there was an easier way!" He looked to Shinkokami, the only female among them. She glared at him disdainfully. Obviously, it wasn't her.

"Maybe we should go further down the tunnel," he suggested nervously. He didn't want to enter through the fire block doorway. Even if they didn't find another entrance, it would be a good delay. Cleon lifted his lantern high and led them forward. He would rather leave the prophecy in its dust rather than fulfill it, but he had very little choice.

It was unnerving, to say the least. Cleon thought back to the moment he saw his best friend lying with blood all over his front. Faleron was depending on him to perform this prophecy so that they could obtain the antidote. It never occurred to him that Maggur was bluffing. Even if the poison wasn't real, Faleron was still at the mercy of the doctors attending him. Cleon couldn't forget that.

He couldn't even trust Maggur to keep his word after the dragon had been retrieved. The only task the prophecy had said Cleon was to do was tame the dragon and lead a war. Directly following that, the chamberlain could very well order all the Mithrans in the Black City to be executed.

Nausea spread through his lower abdomen.

"You okay?" Neal asked. His brow furrowed with concern.

"Yeah. Fine. You see anything?"

"Not a thing," Neal replied sadly.

Joren walked ahead. "Keep moving then."

Neal and Shinkokami followed, but Cleon was frozen to the spot. He ignored the sound of his friends' departing footsteps and instead concentrated on the wall opposite of the fire shaped hole. He stared at it unwaveringly. 

Something was calling to him. Some_one_. The mysterious voice of the phantom girl whispered in his ear again. He couldn't make out the words, but he surrendered to her anyway. It was like stepping through a waterfall. He tilted his head upwards, already feeling as if he was cleaner than he had been in days. Cleon closed his eyes and stepped forward, his arms outstretched. Just like a waterfall, he imagined. Everything was cool and refreshing.

_"There is an easier way."_

_"Show me," _he answered silently. Cleon suddenly felt dizzy, as if he had spun around in circles. With his eyes still closed, he ran forward, trying to find the owner of the voice.__

_"An easier… easier way."_

_"Take me there!"_

_"Come with me then."_

It was like plunging headfirst into an icy river.

Not long after, his friends noticed his absence when they realized that the lantern's light was not following them. Joren turned and scowled. "Kennan! Keep up!"

Neal also jogged back the few steps to where they had stood. He slid to a stop on the loose gravel and dirt. The lantern was set on the ground, the flame inside flickering. Nervously, he glanced around him. Neal even peered carefully into the lava chamber nearby. Their redheaded companion was nowhere to be found. His heart leapt in his chest, filled with fear.

"C-cleon?" he stuttered.

The tone of Neal's voice alarmed the other two right away. Joren shoved past him and scanned the area as well. Shinkokami kept her weapons within reach as she too studied possible dangers. 

Eventually, Joren stopped in front of the wall that Cleon had been so intently focusing upon. He tentatively touched it with his fingertips. Instead of feeling a solid barrier, he felt the wall move. It almost rippled like a pond, but then it stretched as if it were an elastic covering stretched taut over a rocky frame. 

As he pressed his hand harder, he found more resistance. The surface was still stretching, surprising the three comrades. Joren weighed his options. He had no idea what was on the other side of this barrier. Scientific explanation seemed useless in this region, considering everything they had seen since arriving there. Nothing logical could explain this sight. They had seen so many forms of magic that it seemed very likely that magic was responsible for the strange rock wall.

Leaning in even more, his fingers broke through the barrier. The rest of his arm quickly followed, almost as if being swallowed up by a large toothless monster. He was buried in until his shoulder, then part of his chest…

"I think we found Kennan," Joren muttered, trying to ignore the chilly pinpricks he felt in his limbs. Whatever it was, it was as cold as the snow outside. "Grab onto me!"

Neal and Shinkokami both latched onto his arm before the rest of him disappeared into the wall. It was like seeing him disappear into a quicksand trap. As unnerved as they were, they held onto him. And soon, they were swallowed as well. It happened all very fast. One second, they were standing in the wide chamber feeling the heat from the lava pool. The next, they were yanked into the frigid unknown.

It felt as if they were passing through a bubble. It was a pleasant sensation. A cool wave crashed over them. And as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving them colder than before. It was like stepping out of a pool and shivering when the wind blew across the skin. In fact, they _were_ slightly wet. All their clothes were damp and moisture stuck to their skin. They stood in a new cave now, almost a mirror of the place they had been in seconds before. The only exception was the lack of an entry leading to the lava filled cave.

And it was very dark.

Joren struck a match on the heel of his boot and held it up. "You couldn't grab the lantern?"

They lit an oiled rag and wrapped it around the sturdy metal sheath of one of Shinkokami's daggers. It served well as a light source, though not as well as the lantern they had left behind. This caused the three to walk closer together than they had before. There was no telling what could be denizen to those parts.

Neal detached his quarterstaff from the leather strap on his back and held it before him, hoping to ward off any potential attackers. He didn't believe that Cleon would just wander off on his own. The sharpshooter had been taken by force. And whatever had kidnapped him certainly wouldn't be allowed to do the same thing to them.

~~

Cleon opened his eyes and found himself staring into two orbs of chocolate brown. He gasped and stumbled backwards, wondering how on earth he had gotten there. His body was soaked with cold water, but he couldn't see any bodies of water around. Eventually, he looked to the girl in front of him as if she were the answer to all his questions.

The girl before him was petite, about Faleron's size. Her long black hair was combed into a simple thick braid that trailed to the small of her back. Her kimono was dark blue, trimmed with white and silver. The slant of her eyes made it clear that she was of Eastern Yamani descent, though the stare that she gave Cleon was much bolder than any look that an eastern woman had ever given him.

They were standing in a small dome shaped chamber with no apparent exits. The place was about ten feet in diameter, and a small fire was crackling in the center. Cleon walked around the flames, trying to get closer to the girl. He approached slowly because he was hoping not to scare her. She seemed perturbed anyhow.

"Who are you? Where are we?" he asked. He was surprised to hear his voice sound so small and insignificant. Perhaps the walls of the chamber absorbed noise.

Apparently they did, because he could barely hear the girl when she next spoke to him.

"I am Chisakami," the girl replied, bowing her head slightly. "You are above the Calling Place, in my chambers."

Cleon glanced around them. The cave was devoid of any furnishing—no beds, chairs, tables. There wasn't even a chimney for the smoke to be let out. He wondered why they hadn't suffocated yet. Then again, he couldn't remember entering the place. Perhaps there was a secret passageway that only she could see.

"Why have you taken me here? What's the Calling Place?"

She appeared disappointed. "You should know. We have been waiting for _you_ for so long."

"We?" he squeaked. His eyes darted around them though he kept his head still. "Define we."

"Nataku and I. Who else?" Chisakami chirped. She pressed her hands together as if in prayer and turned toward the fire. The dancing flames reflected in her eyes. "It has been so long since she has seen the light of day. I have been her eyes and ears. Otherwise, I would have died when they abandoned me here." A shadow seemed to pass over her face. "Useless, they called me. Not the right one. Well, we'll soon see about that."

Before he could move, she rushed to his side and clasped his hands between hers pleadingly. "Now that you are here, you can fully wake Nataku and release us from this prison! It is our ultimate destiny to destroy the bloodline that imprisoned Nataku in the first place."

If there was a god of cruel practical jokes, Cleon was sure that this god was rolling around on his cloud with laughter. He loosened her grip from his hands and rubbed his palms on his thighs. He thought he had heard enough from Maggur and the Black City. Obviously, one could never have enough insanity on one's plate.

He wondered if Maggur had secretly made him ingest hallucinogens. According to certain hints that Chisakami was giving him, Cleon was fairly convinced that she was the maiden that had been about to be sacrificed all those years ago. Except, she didn't die in the caves. In fact, she had become linked to a sleeping dragon and granted immortality.

_I hate irony_, he thought. 

"Right! Okay, so. I wake up your buddy Nataku? We go back to my city and destroy it?"

The dragon mistress pouted. "Why should we destroy the Black City? It was one of the ancient Kings of Enishijirou who imprisoned Nataku!"

"Weren't you kidnapped _from_ that kingdom _by_ the Black City?" Cleon asked, trying to piece together the story fragments he had heard. "Yeah! The head priests of the Black City kidnapped you from Enishijirou, but you weren't the sacrifice they had been looking for—so they left you for dead." He licked his lips hopefully. "Don't you want to attack my city, then?"

Chisakami giggled. "Of course not! Why would I destroy the city of my savior?"

And with that, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her face against his chest. Cleon gulped, eyes wide. He held his arms out at a ninety-degree angle, trying very hard to make as little contact as possible with the strange girl who was embracing him. He tremulously tried to step back from her, but she only moved with him.

_Think: you have a girlfriend. Kalasin. Kalasin is wonderful. Kalasin, Kalasin, Kalasin—_

"Oh damn it all! Just throw me to the dragon and let me burn!" Cleon cried, shoving her away and pressing himself nervously against the cave wall. He panted as if he were having a panic attack. He very well could have been having one, the way he was determined to become one with the rock face which he leant upon.

She shook her head. "You are a strange king, but that does not matter." She brushed herself off and gestured toward the far wall of the chamber. "Let us go down to the Calling Place. There you will wake my other half and I shall set eyes upon her at last."

"Oh! Good for you." He attempted desperately to smile. "I feel so blessed to be given the honor of waking an overgrown lizard bent on revenge and mass destruction!"

Chisakami stared at him, then smiled weakly as if humoring an ill made joke that she did not understand. She turned and approached the far wall, disappearing into it as if it were a wall of mist rather than of rock. Cleon cursed quietly to himself and followed.

A wave of heat attacked him. He stumbled backward and threw up his arms in front of his face. If he had been soaked before, the heat would make short work of drying him. Squinting in the fiery red glow, he tried to see Chisakami, who seemed unaffected by the drastic rise in temperature. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable.

They stood on the altar of obsidian that he had spied before in the lava chamber. Chisakami knelt down and placed her hands flat on the stone. She waited for him to do the same.

"How can you endure this? It's too hot!" Cleon asked as he knelt down and reluctantly copied her position. He could already feel the sweat beading across his brow. His eyes hurt, but he had dropped Neal's goggles back in the small dome-shaped chamber that they had just come from.

The maiden smiled a little and lowered her head. "You become accustomed to it. Do not fret, King. Nataku would not let you burn. You may call her now."

"And how exactly do I do that?"

She lifted her head. "You mean you do not know?"

"It must have been that class I slept through at the Academy. So sorry."

"S-slept through?"

Cleon rolled his eyes. "Just messing with you. Seriously, though! I don't know the first thing about calling a dragon. Do you?"

"Well," she began. "When I first came here, I prayed for someone to save me. And I did like so." She lowered her upper body to the altar floor so that her forehead pressed against the glassy black rock. Cleon hesitantly imitated her, though he felt like a clown with his butt sticking up in the air.

"What then?" he queried, his voice muffled by the baggy front of his jacket.

"Then I begged the gods to find me worthy. That was when I heard Nataku's voice and she accepted me as her guide to the living world."

The sharpshooter sighed and screwed his eyes shut. He cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke in a clear voice that he hoped resembled some famous orator—preferably one who lived a long life. "Oh Great and Powerful Gods! May you find me and, er, my supplication worthy to grant me the privilege of waking this here… lizard—no! Dragon, Nataku. Um, I would be eternally grateful and uh, I promise not to destroy the rainforest!" He paused. "Or any other landscape of nature for that matter! I have only the best of intentions! Really, I do! I recycle my plastic and glass and that entire sort! So, thanks in advance if you do happen to find me the right man for the job! Cheers!"

They sat up and looked at each other. Or rather, Chisakami fixed Cleon with the most perplexed stare that he had ever received in his life. The redhead shrugged.

"I told you I knew nothing of proper dragon calling. I added the last part just for Fal, though. Seemed like the kind of thing he would say."  He whistled low in his throat. Gazing over her shoulder, he inspected the humongous lava pool in the middle of the cave. 

Something large was rising from it. He could already begin to see a bulge that had not been there before. The thought of his crazy prayer having been answered made Cleon want to become some sort of evangelist for the Ministry of Dragons, but he knew that he could never think of doing such a thing ever again. Instead, he sat fixed to the spot while observing the waking dragon rise from its fiery sleeping place.

Chisakami stood and turned. She pulled him up to his feet and pushed him toward the edge of the altar. Cleon winced again as he felt the heat lash out at him. But surprisingly, it started to fade. He could see the hot air rising from the hot rocks around him, but it wasn't touching him. It was as if a protecting bubble of cool air that could not be penetrated had surrounded him. His eyes didn't even hurt anymore.

The bulge had become the size of an elephant now. Cleon attempted to lean back and get away from the edge of the obsidian plateau, but the immortal girl held him there with a strength that surprised him. He definitely wouldn't be asking her for an arm wrestling match anytime soon.

Lava dripped off the sides of the emerging head. His knees knocked against each other at the rate that they were shaking. He could scarcely believe that the creature that was emerging before him had a head the size of a Volkswagen. Distantly, he could hear a low moaning sound. And then he recognized it as his own voice, calling out in paralyzed fear.

A body was now visible. Wings were wrapped around the torso, followed by powerful legs that could have easily knocked over a building or two. A long tail whipped out of the pool, sending lava in all directions and melting the rock as it did so. Cleon involuntarily jumped and fiercely hugged the girl behind him for protection.

The pointed, triangular head shook the lava off until none remained. What was left was a head covered with large armor like scales. One scale, Cleon assumed, could have done well to make an indestructible chest plate. They appeared black in color, but on closer inspection, he saw that they were dark green. And the scales glittered, too, as if diamond dust had been mixed in with the soot that covered the waking beast. Four black horns adorned the top of the head where the scales flared into a sort of crest. It reminded Cleon of plumage that a fancy bird would have on its crown. Except this was no bird.

Two menacing claws braced against the edge of the lava pool as the dragon got out. The long wings, each individually having a span nearly half as long as the cave, spread out and stretched until the dragon was content. Finally, the whole truck sized body was out, the long barb-spiked tail flicking about lazily as the dragon approached the obsidian altar with a hungry look in its yellow slit eyes.

The dragon turned toward the maiden first, as if they were having a conversation in which only they could hear and participate. Finally, Chisakami loosened Cleon's panicked embrace and touched his cheek comfortingly. 

"Nataku thanks you for waking her at long last. She revels in your triumph and wishes to serve you by carrying out the remainder of the prophecy."

But all he could think was, _I can't believe that my half-assed speech actually worked._

With that, the dragon lowered her head and pressed toward Cleon. He let out a small 'oof' as he was gently head butted, now lying on top of the hard narrow snout. Large plate-sized eyes stared at him with an almost infinite calmness.

"Hello," he murmured, just as wide-eyed. His throat was dry and he couldn't think of what else to say. "My name is Cleon. And… you must be Nataku. Nice to meet you."

A rumbling sensation went throughout his entire body. It took him a while to realize that the dragon was making a sound in response. He skittishly slid off the dragon's snout and brushed off the soot and ash.

"She is pleased to meet you as well," Chisakami told him, beaming happily.

All of a sudden, the dragon raised her head and turned it toward the opening in the cave which Cleon and his companions had pushed open earlier. The dragon let out a piercing shriek that would have burst his eardrums had he not the sense to back away and press his hands to his head in time. Then the huge reptilian beast moved toward the tiny opening and sniffed. When she snorted, bursts of flame larger than the ones produced by Cleon's crude flamethrower flashed from her nostrils.

"What's going on?" he yelled over the din that the dragon was making, still wailing and shrieking louder than a whole flock of banshees.

"She senses other intruders!" Chisakami screamed back.

Cleon shook his head. "Well, tell her that they're just my friends! They're okay!"

Chisakami glared at him. She paused to communicate with her bonded partner. "Nataku says that two of them are harmless. They are like you. But one of them is of the Blood! One of them is of the same royal blood that flows through the King of Enishijirou, and she must die!"

When he realized that she was referring to Shinkokami, he groaned and shook his head. Before he could shout back that they had to obey his orders and _not_ attack the wolf-princess, the dragon had leapt up from the floor of the cave. The wings beat hard, causing a rush of air to blow against the two humans on the altar and knock them over. While they were still trying to recover from the gale-force winds that had been created, the dragon disappeared through the cave ceiling, much like Cleon and Chisakami had phased through the rock walls.

He scrambled to his feet and waited for his fiercely beating heart to slow down. "Oh… oh dude… This is _so_ not good…"

~~

Neal grabbed Joren's shoulder tightly. "Did you hear that?"

"Loud screaming as if some poor animal was in its death throes? Yeah, I heard that," Joren replied, nonplussed. "Shinkokami, do you know what that is?"

She tensed, gripping her dagger handle in her hand tightly. "The dragon is awake."

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding," Neal begged. He received an annoyed look from both his comrades. Joren shook his partner's hand off his shoulder and moved forward, holding the makeshift torch high over his head.

"Assuming that the dragon truly is awake, then I'm sure Cleon is in that direction. Luckily, I possess the good natured faith to trust that Cleon can take care of his foolish self so we will head in the other direction for our general safety," he explained in a monotone voice. 

Neal raised one eyebrow inquisitively. "Is that so? You have faith in Cleon?"

"No. Actually, I lied." He paused. "I'm sorry, did you _want_ to face a dragon head on?"

"No!"

"Then let's keep moving."

The two men set off at a fast walking pace, but it was Shinkokami running past them that inspired them with the desire to flee as well. The wild princess chest was heaving. The way her legs moved, both men were sure that she was much more alarmed by the dragon than they were. It was a definite change from the cold attitude that they were familiar to seeing.

"Shinko!" Neal called. "Slow down, girl! You're running like the Boogeyman is after you!"

"It is, you imbecile!" she shouted. "I am the first it shall hunt! I am of the royal family and that creature is fated to kill me and the rest of my line!"

_Oh. That explains it, _Neal thought. All three were now running as fast as they could through the tunnels. Joren wondered how Shinkokami could see since he was the one with the light, but she managed to do fine without it. The two men were the ones who almost ran into an overhang of rock. 

They followed her through a small hole to the side. They would have missed it entirely if they hadn't slowed down. As soon as they were through, they began sliding down a long face of rock. Joren dropped the makeshift torch and tried to stay upright. Neal cursed loudly as he fell flat on his back. Joren gave him a hand up.

"Why didn't we stay with the wolves? I felt much safer with them around," he complained. He brushed off the dirt that stuck to the wet clothes on his back.

Another inhuman scream echoed around them. The three companions exchanged wary looks. Shinkokami picked up the torch and held it up. They were now in a large cave that had numerous stalactites dripping water into small blue glowing pools around them. Neal leaned against a stalagmite and struck the ground with his quarterstaff in frustration.

"Where do we go now? It doesn't look like there's a way out of here."

"There may be another enchanted wall," Joren answered. "Let's start looking."

Before they could even move, stalactites began to fall from the ceiling. The ground that they stood upon began to shake as if there was an earthquake. Joren grabbed both of his companions by the back of their clothes and yanked them out of the way of harm. He squinted through the darkness to see that the ceiling of the cave was starting to take on a watery appearance, like the rock that they had passed through a while back.

Shinkokami, still holding the torch, began to run up the slope of rock that they had slid down upon. Her rough soled soles allowed her to get halfway up before something large and black had descended from the quivering ceiling. A large barbed tail caught the wild girl across the backside and sent her sprawling off the ledge and harshly onto the ground.

Neal frantically rushed out from their hiding place and went to her side. The ground had ceased to shake, but now the cave was filled with a new presence. Joren quietly crept over to the torch and held it up to get a good look at whatever had cut Shinkokami down.

He pressed himself against the nearest stalagmite as a plume of fire shot out into the space above him. He could feel the hairs on his face singe from being so close. He immediately put his arms over his head and ducked down as far as he could.

When he opened his eyes, he was face to face with the largest creature he had ever seen.

The dragon snorted at him, blowing unbearably hot air into this face. Joren turned away and tried to peer into the darkness. He could barely make out the figures of Neal and Shinkokami. His partner was crouched over the fallen girl, who was breathing shallowly. A dark pool on the ground beside her indicated that she had bled profusely from the slash on her back, given to her by the dragon's tail. 

Glancing down at the razor sharp claws beneath the dragon's immense body, Joren was sure that he had no wish to see what else it could do.

The dragon turned away from the blond and raised its head toward the ceiling. It was just in time to catch two falling humans on its long neck. He recognized one of them right away.

"Kennan!" he shouted. The dragon jerked toward him sharply, sending him a menacing look, rows of sharp teeth bared just for him.

Cleon felt relieved to see that at least Joren was in one piece. He ignored the dragon's foul mood and leaned closer. "Stone! You're okay! Where's Neal? And the princess?"

Chisakami looked coldly at Joren, then turned her gaze to where the other two were. "She has a fatal wound. Justly deserved."

"No!" Neal cried out. He carefully lifted Shinkokami's head into his lap and brushed her hair away from her face.

Cleon was crestfallen. "Oh, gods… I'm so sorry. I was too late."

The wolf princess' eyes opened slowly. They were hazy and unfocused. She had a hard time seeing in the dark, harder now that her vision was starting to go. However, she managed to look up at the two people seated on the dragon's neck. A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes. Shinkokami gasped.

"Chisakami… sister…" she croaked. Neal tried to calm her and tell her to save her strength, but it was too late. Her eyes fluttered closed and she exhaled for the last time.

He was very quiet after that. Despite the fact that he had only known her for a little while, he had still felt quite attached to her, if not in love with her. She had saved his life once, twice if he counted tumbling down the mountainside. She had been a dutiful member of the royal family and a dedicated sentry of the mountains. How could she deserve this? Shinkokami hadn't been the one to imprison the dragon. All she had only done what was asked of her. No more, no less.

That particular train of thought caused him to look up at the other Yamani woman in the cave. Her last words had hinted that Shinkokami had known her. He scowled and glared at the remaining girl. Instinctively, he held Shinkokami's body closer as if he still needed to protect her. 

Chisakami turned her head away in disdain and petted the dragon's large neck. Meanwhile, Cleon and Joren both stayed to the side as onlookers. The redhead didn't know what else to do but be ready to stop the dragon should it decide to attack again. And the blond knew no comforting words to offer Neal except that things could always have been worse.

Joren let out a deep breath. He folded his arms across his chest. "Right. Cleon, take your dragon back to the Black City. We'll follow."

"I'm not following," Neal mumbled. He caressed Shinkokami's cheek and looked up. Tears were glistening in his eyes. "You go ahead, Stone. I'll catch up."

Joren nodded. He motioned for Cleon to leave. "You heard him. Let's get out of here, Kennan." He hesitated and crouched down by Neal's side. "I'll send your wolf down here to help you out."

"Help me?"

"You want to bury her, don't you?" Joren whispered. He looked away, trying not to remember just how well he could relate to Neal's situation. He stifled any urge to grimace and took a deep breath. He'd had no idea that it would be this painful to actually be sympathetic. Joren didn't plan on doing it again anytime soon. "I know what it's like. It's okay. Catch up later." With that, he stood and began walking toward the rocky slope again. The dragon was more docile now that it saw that its immediate threat was eliminated. Now they would travel to the Black City for more information about the City of Enishijirou. And the war would commence.

Neal could have cared less. He watched them depart as quickly as they had come, leaving death and destruction behind them. 

~~

Author's notes:

8/4/03 Hey everyone! I know, the episode is still short—but I've been busy. And I'm out of whack with certain things, so I'm sure this isn't one of my better episodes. Just the same, I hope you enjoyed it, and next time… maybe I'll be in the mood to write. Anyway, next episode returns us to the presence of Kel and all her troubles back inside the castle! Perhaps something interesting will happen while she's there by herself…

Until then, thanks for reading! Remember: emails and reviews are put on a shelf to be cherished always!

P.S. Why oh WHY does school have to start on THURSDAY???


	17. Alternative

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 17: Alternative**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**Note: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: PG-13 for adventuring, the usual tiny amount of cursing, and more surprise than our characters would like…

***IN RESPONSE TO LAST EPISODE**: Everyone continues to ask me about the dragon hunting Shinko, but not Joren—despite the yet-to-be-proved consensus that Joren is, in fact, Enishi's son. According to you observant readers, that should have made Joren the first to be killed by the dragon, right? Well! That's for me to know and _you_ to find out…many episodes later. Well, if one would piece together certain occurrences throughout Joren's entire life and draw several explanations, the right one is bound to be there. At least, I hope so… eek. Stick with the story! The truth shall eventually be revealed! (And I meant that in a *so* non X-files way.)

P.S. Kudos to whoever made the red monkey/ Cleon connection! I thought no one was going to get that!

~~

"You're awake!" Kel exclaimed the next morning. She set down the bowl and washcloth she had been carrying and ran the rest of the way to his side. "How do you feel?"

Faleron smiled at her weakly. "Could be worse." He grimaced. "I'm going to assume that I have no dignity since my clothes are gone. So, with shame removed from the equation, would you mind helping me with the bedpan?"

She blushed inwardly as she picked up the medieval equivalent of a hospital chamber pot and slid it under the sheets into position. Out of politeness, she averted her eyes until he was done. Then she took the pan again and set it on the floor.

"Are you hungry?" Keladry touched her forehead. "You're still very warm. You must feel awful."

"Oh, but there are levels lower than awful, I assure you. And I'm somewhere near the bottom." He tried not to groan when he shifted around. "I am hungry, though. I'm surprised I'm still alive to feel hunger."

The rest was left unspoken. They both knew that he could have died very easily.  If the cross bolt had been a few inches higher or lower, it could have meant the end of Faleron King. Now he was awake, having many stitches and bandages across his wound. The pain-killing herbs that he had been provided with were not as effective as he'd liked them to be, but it was better than nothing. Just the same, Faleron could tell that there was something else wrong with him—not the wound on his ribs. Something far more deadly.

He sensed it like an itch in the back of his mind. The feverish dreams were still fresh in his memory. If only those had been just that—dreams. Something was terribly wrong with him and he was afraid to ask Keladry to confirm his suspicions.

Instead, he slowly reached for her hand and squeezed it. When she turned away guiltily, he knew that he had nothing to suspect anymore. It was true. Whatever else had happened to him, it was horrible and there was nothing that they could do about it.

"I'll get you something to eat. They'll probably have me escorted," Keladry whispered, "but I need to make sure your food isn't tampered with." She pushed away from the bed and reluctantly ambled toward the door. She touched the doorknob and glanced over her shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be okay here?"

The former thief nodded. He waited patiently for the door to close after her. When she was gone, he let out a deep shuddering breath.  He couldn't believe how much pain he was in. It hurt just to _breathe_. It didn't help that he was still feeling slightly feverish. He wanted to dunk his head in cold water, but knowing what little strength he had, he would probably end up drowning himself.

He had to admit that he _was_ partially hungry. The cramps of pain he was receiving from his abdomen, though, informed him that he wouldn't be able to hold down any solid foods. It would probably be the best course of action to keep a vomit bucket near the bed.

_Think of something else,_ he commanded himself, forcing his current physical ailments aside. The last thing he could remember clearly was Maggur insisting that Cleon go on his quest for the dragon alone. Cleon had been so sure that he couldn't accomplish what was being asked of him without help, so Keladry had convinced him that she and Faleron would go with him.

He'd seen the cross bolt coming.

As soon as he knew what was going to happen, he realized that he didn't have any choices. Faleron had become so familiar with seeing all the possible choices and picking the right ones that he felt incredibly cheated when he knew he couldn't find a good solution. He did not have the right reflexes to dodge. And if he did, the bolt might have struck his friends.

He'd known in those infinite moments before the pain that he was probably going to die. And despite having a clear view of all the possibilities, there were still none available to him. It was luxury that he was not allowed to have. So many answers, but only one outcome: Faleron had to die.

_Why am I still here?_

It was not an unfamiliar feeling—being used for higher motives by someone he didn't know. The courts of Scanra had definitely meant to use him as a scapegoat for the tragic murder of a suburban family and their burglar. Yes. There was a perfectly good reason he was still alive. Someone meant to use him against his friends, and apparently, it had worked. Cleon was nowhere in sight. Keladry acted as if it were all her fault. They were all being used.

The burning pain across his ribs caused him to half-expect flames shooting up from his body. When all he saw was a mass of white bandages, he calmed down, but not before imagining actual tongues of yellow and orange consuming his body. He sloppily wiped the sweat off his brow and relaxed his head back against the pillows. There was nothing else to do to wait. Wait for what? A temporary solution in primitive medicine? Impassive healers? The news that Cleon had gotten himself killed while fulfilling his damned destiny? Or, perhaps… the only thing left to wait for was death.

He turned his head carefully so he could stare at a point in space beside him. In his mind, he began constructing a picture of what the Grim Reaper would look like. Soft black rustling cloth like liquid shadow, much like the court advisors had worn. A long cowl pulled over a skull. Skeletal fingers curled around a tall staff, topped with a razor sharp scythe. 

_Having an imagination is a dangerous thing,_ he mused to himself as he closed his eyes and decided to doze while waiting for Keladry.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw nearly made his heart stop.

"I see," Selirithel said, pulling his hood back slightly so he could gaze down at Faleron better. He bent down and retrieved a bag with Keladry's belongings in it.

Meanwhile, the injured young man was trying very hard not to have a heart attack. He gulped. _This_ was Death he was staring at. His nightmares had come true. All at once, Faleron tried to collect himself and remain dignified. His last minutes on earth wouldn't be cowardly. "You're… You've come for me, haven't you?"

The stranger picked up a gold chain with an opal attached to it from the bag and swung it slowly in front of Faleron's face. "I always come for those who have this."

"And I have it," Faleron whispered.

"It is strange," Selirithel sighed. "I came back this morning because I believe I had given this to Joren Stone. Yet, it is in your possession instead of his."

Faleron recalled the many times Keladry had confided to him about Joren. She had reluctantly recounted the occasions the blond had nearly been killed by various forces in the world. Yes, Death should have come for Joren long before it had come for him. Even the Reaper himself was confused.

The sorcerer, on the other hand, had no idea of the thoughts swirling around Faleron's head. Sensing that the opal was still in the castle, he'd had no idea who was now holding it, if not Joren. He and Borealize had rescued the four Mithran hostages and taken them out of the Black City, but when Selirithel had sensed one of his opals left behind, he had decided to go back for it.

"You are too injured to move and I have not the right materials with me to help you," Selirithel thought aloud. After a moment's hesitation, he snapped off the opal from the chain and whispered an incantation. Faleron could barely hear anything, but he could see that the opal was turning red, then black. When he was finished, Selirithel put it in Faleron's palm and closed the former thief's fingers around it.

"What is it?"

"You can swallow it. It is better that you die earlier, rather than feel the pain that will mark your last hours. It will be agony, and this alternative… it is humane," Selirithel finished. The sorcerer rested his fingertips on Faleron's forehead, feeling the sickly warmth radiating from him. "Now is not your time, but you will know when. You will know."

Faleron nodded slowly. "Thank you."

The stranger's fingers brushed over Faleron's eyelids, urging him to close them. Faleron did so, and remained silent while his personal messenger of death left the room. Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried to banish them before Kel returned. 

This was the answer, wasn't it? For as long as Faleron could remember, he considered himself gifted with the ability to evaluate any situation within the blink of an eye and pick the best solution. So, here was his dilemma. And here was his answer. Not like before, with the cross bolt, where he could only wait for the inevitable to happen. No. Not like that act that had caused him to lie in bed dying. Here was a new choice.

He squeezed the black opal in his hand until his knuckles became white. 

_Alternative. Yes. It's_ my _choice now. _

~~

Keladry walked back from the kitchens with a guard in tow. She resented the constant presence of people she did not trust, but there was no helping that. Faleron needed her. And Joren needed her to be there for Faleron. Someone always needed her and Keladry honestly didn't know how much she could take.

Nearing the corridor that led to the infirmary, she suddenly stopped when a man in black robes turned the corner. She could hear the jingle of a golden chain on his wrist, identical to the one that Joren had given to her. 

But for some reason, she thought to herself that there was no man there. The guard halted as well, the same slight perplexity on his face. They both saw the man walk toward them, but they did not believe he was there. They forgot him as soon as he was out of their range of vision.

Selirithel looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse at Keladry. She had almost broken through his spell. He had cast a spell identical to the one he used when he and Borealize entered the hostage's room. No one would see him because he wished for it, not because they couldn't physically see him. They did, but they refused to believe in it.  But he could feel her will tugging at the foundations of the magic he had set. 

_What a strong mind that one has,_ he thought. 

Keladry and the guard began their journey back to the infirmary again. The remaining sentries hailed their comrade and cast Keladry dirty looks. She glared at them all and slipped into the room with the bundle of food in her arms.

"The hostages are gone—not Inness and Conal, the rest of them. The guards are accusing me of helping them, but how could I have? I've been here with you and they know it," she said as she began laying items out on the small bedside table. She noticed the moisture at the corner of her friend's eyes. "Fal?"

"I'm fine. Now, what were you saying?" he asked, blinking his eyes open.

"The hostages with the exception of my brothers, they're okay," she said quietly, still eying him anxiously. "Joren, Neal, and some other guys they brought with them—they came to free us. Then Joren and Neal went to help Cleon."

"Oh, good. Cleon has help." Faleron felt much better after hearing that statement. He coughed. "So Joren and Neal are okay. That's a definite relief, too."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt for his temperature again, touching his forehead, cheeks, and neck with the back of her hand. A flash of disappointment appeared in her eyes. She went back to preparing his food. While she cut up the bread into thin slices, she talked. "I've been trying to formulate a plan to search Maggur's chambers and find—" she stopped short. "Find what we need. Joren said that he met people who could help so we wouldn't have to get… what we need from Maggur."

Faleron frowned at her. "It's okay, you know. You can say it. What is it that I need? Anti-virus, magical charm, or perhaps divine intervention?"

Keladry felt the urge to smirk, but didn't. "No. Just a simple little antidote."

"Well then, there you go. A measly antidote. I trust Stone to pull through with help. But if it makes you feel better, plot and scheme all you like to steal this antidote from the chamberlain." He reached over and patted her hand. "I'll be fine. "

She watched in silence as he slowly ate the food she prepared. He managed to hold down most of it, though at the end, he was vomiting up the last few things he had swallowed. Keladry bade him to drink plenty of water, and arranged a pitcher and cup at his bedside table. 

"Geh. I feel like I'm in a permanent hangover," Faleron groaned. He chuckled lightly, but stopped when he realized that Keladry's eyes were becoming moist with tears. Distressed—he had never _ever_ imagined that Kel would cry in front of him—he tugged her arm and pulled her to lie down beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. More stabs of pain accompanied his movement, but he forced it out of his mind and chose to focus on his friend beside him.

After all this time of being restrained and reserved by her own sense of pride and duty, Keladry felt herself slipping away, almost as badly as she had when Joren had been involved. She had faced death before. But not like this. Not even when she had received the call that informed her that her brothers might be dead. It had not been quite as _close_ and real as this, right next to her. They remained silent for a few minutes.

"Kel?"

"Yes?"

"Two men walk into a bar, one wearing a tutu and the other wearing a inflatable duck tube around his waist. What did they say to each other?"

She sniffled and wiped her salty tears away. "I don't know. What?"

He grinned. "I don't know either, but it sure beats the hell out of thinking of that stinking bedpan under the bed."

Keladry put her arms carefully around his chest and smiled. She hoped she wouldn't miss him. She begged the gods that she wouldn't _have_ to miss him.

~~

Cleon unconsciously tightened his grip on the dragon scales. He glanced behind him, downward at Joren who was riding some distance behind on a large wolf. Chisakami narrowed her eyes slightly, causing Cleon to turn back around and stare straight ahead. The slow, silent journey had been nothing but torture. And if there was anyone to blame, it was Cleon. At first, Chisakami and the dragon had wanted to fly, but Cleon had become very nauseous. He'd never been sick while flying in airplanes before, so he attributed the uneasiness to the dragon alone. And now, he was leading a living weapon of mass destruction back to the last people on the face of the earth who should be in possession of such.

And he mostly still blamed himself.

"Is something wrong, My King?" Chisakami asked.

"No. No, it's nothing." He perked up when they rounded a bend in the rock-hewn road and saw the Black City not too far away. "Finally! I can't wait to check up on Fal and Kel and be rid of this—" He stopped short and glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "Nothing."

As they came closer and closer to the city gates, Cleon could barely contain his excitement. He'd wanted to return quickly so he could see Faleron. The problem with this was that Faleron might have died in Cleon's absence. In that case, it would have been better to delay from returning so that Cleon could go on believing that his friend was still alive and waiting. He couldn't stand the suspense, but what if…?

Deciding to boldly ignore the dragon maiden's glares, the sharpshooter turned and stared at Joren's small figure in the distance. Joren had said that Faleron was fine. Cleon believed him. He didn't have a reason not to, at this point. Since Keladry had finally admitted to her friends that she and Joren shared a bond and that they were both going to start over, emotionally, Cleon had started to see things in the blond that he hadn't noticed before. Joren may have been a hard-ass to everyone but his girlfriend, but he was trustworthy.

_Faleron's okay,_ he told himself. _He has to be. He is._

When they had reached the city walls, Joren had disappeared from sight. The soldiers at the gate stared out from the battlements, some frozen in shock, others panicking in terror. No one bothered to open the gates. They didn't need to. The dragon could have easily climbed over, or even jumped if it had so desired.

Just the same, the large mythic reptile remained outside the city. It lowered its head to the top of the walls and ramparts to allow its riders to step off. Then it began to settle peacefully on the ground, curled up much like a dog in front of a fire, waiting for further instruction.

Cleon wanted to land running on the broad wooden ramparts. He restrained himself, though, remembering that he had to present Chisakami to Maggur and the other advisors. It would be difficult to explain everything that had happened, but luckily the dragon maiden could fill in the blanks better than he could. Everything except the part where Shinkokami had died.

No. Best not to mention that.

They climbed down a long wooden ladder. It was difficult because his companion wore a kimono and she was not about to hike it up to help her along; decency won out over efficiency. He helped her down and supported her as she delicately hopped off the last rung, a cloud of dust rising up from her sandaled feet. She pouted at the traces of dirt that were on her hem.

An official escort made up of a contingent of army officers was waiting for them. Older men with at least ten or twenty years experience in military matters, they seemed like the type that would take no nonsense from anyone, even their superiors. The grisly old men gawked at Chisakami. Cleon figured that her clothing caused them to think of the fashions in Enishijirou. And only Cleon knew why that was…

They rode on horseback to the castle. He wanted to put as much space between him and the dragon maiden as possible, but instead, she sat sidesaddle behind him on the same horse, holding his waist like she had while riding the dragon. She was wary to let any other man touch her. Only Cleon was allowed.

_Why? Because of a ridiculous fairy tale on parchment,_ he groused silently. 

His hands tightened on the reins. Staring straight ahead, Cleon attempted to think of a way to help Faleron. What if Maggur refused to administer the antidote? What if there _was_ no antidote? Cleon gulped. He averted his gaze to the ground ahead of him in hopes of distracting himself. But the patterns of pebbles on the dirty streets did nothing to take his mind of fearful matters. 

It was a tense time. When at last they reached the castle, he practically leapt off the horse. If his female companion hadn't cleared her throat reproachfully, he would have ran away in an instant. But he stayed. Cleon impatiently helped her dismount from the dark gelding and let Chisakami clutch his arm. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, he supposed. As gentlemanly as one can be, against his will.

"Why are you in such a hurry? Fate will take its course," she murmured, noticing the flashes of emotion in his eyes.

"It's not Fate I'm worried about," he replied.

Maggur greeted them as soon as they were inside. The dark robed man put on a false smile as he clapped his hands together. He ushered them toward the throne room through the dark corridors of the castle. He placed a bony hand on Cleon's shoulder. "Your Majesty! I'm pleased to see you've taken an interest in potential queens, but the dragon…?"

Cleon rolled his eyes. "This is the dragon's spokesperson. Like an agent or something." He shrugged it off indifferently. "You two can talk all you want, but I need to see my friends.

The older man sighed. "If you must, I imagine that they're still in the infirmary."

"And the antidote?"

Maggur shook his head. "All in good time, Highness. Please, more important matters must be discussed."

"Important!" Cleon exclaimed, annoyed. "What's more important than this? Get out of my way! And make sure the next time I see you, you have the antidote!" 

Cleon shoved past him. Despite the fact that he didn't know in which way the infirmary was, he strode away, stubbornly determined to find what he sought for. The guards moved to stop him, but Maggur signaled them to back off. The chamberlain watched Cleon suspiciously before returning his attention to Chisakami.

The halls were long and dark, as if space and night stretched on forever into eternity. He had very little idea of where to go, but he did not slow down at all. He found himself panting by the time he had checked his third hall. Eventually, a servant passed him. He grabbed the surprised young girl and asked desperately where the infirmary was.

The shabbily dressed girl stuttered an answer while curtsying repetitively. He felt a bit sorry for her when she was done. The castle was filled with many intimidating people and creatures. Even Cleon was an oddity compared to the normal, humble standards of peasant folk. The girl ran away as soon as she finished speaking. He shouted his gratitude at her rapidly retreating form.

By the time he had run up the servants' staircase and down the many corridors leading to his destination, he was about to collapse from overexertion. He stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart. The guards beside the infirmary doors peered at him curiously. They recognized the clothing and the golden circlet fixed to Cleon's head of unruly red locks. But could this really be their king?

"Your Majesty?" one of them spoke nervously.

The redhead straightened up and glared at them in what he hoped was an imposing way. "Move aside! Your king wishes to enter this place!"

They stepped away at once, snapping to attention in an instant. Cleon ignored the formal salute and flung open the doors. His mood brightened instantly.

"You're okay!" he gasped as soon as he stepped inside. He slammed the door behind him and went to his friend's bedside.

Keladry was fluffing the pillow behind Faleron's head. She looked up and smiled when she saw the person they had been waiting so impatiently for. As far as she could tell, the sharpshooter looked unharmed. She continued to study him just to be sure.

Meanwhile, Faleron shifted ever so slightly and winced. A jolt of pain shot up the side of his ribs. He breathed raggedly through clenched teeth and leaned his head back, screwing his eyes shut. With a weak hand, he wiped off a bead of sweat from his nose. He could only wish that he possessed a remarkable resilience like Joren to recover from injury. Unfortunately, it was not so.

"Not 'okay', just… alive," Faleron croaked. His throat was dry as well. Keladry picked up a cup of water and held it to his mouth to sip. He thought it was all quite useless—to sip the water only to sweat it out again. He was tempted to dry up like a desert if it meant he could stop this dependency on water. It was one of those rare times that he wished he was a camel.

Cleon crouched beside him, resting his chin on his knuckles. "But you look okay. And you will be! I did what Maggur asked me to. He _has_ to give you the antidote."

"We can only hope. Never mind that. You really didn't wake a dragon, did you?"

He didn't reply, but smiled apologetically. Faleron rolled his eyes.

"Guess we can't blame you for trying to help. I still don't believe that there are actually dragons in the world. How the hell does that work?"

Keladry sighed stressfully. "After everything we've seen, I'm more than ready to believe it."

"What we've seen and heard can logically be explained. It may not have anything to do with magic at all, but a natural biological phenomenon," Faleron argued, coughing a little.

Cleon pointed out the window. "You take a look at Godzilla out there and _then_ we'll start talking about 'logic'. Forget it! We need to get you professional help. Here you are, going on and on about reason and logic and you're still injured! Can you move?"

"Painfully, but I'm sure I won't bleed to death." Faleron shifted slightly, trying to gauge his range of motion. If he moved, he would be in extreme pain. But he would still be capable of surviving the journey. "I think I'll need you two to carry me."

They looked instantly to Keladry. It was obvious that Cleon would help, but Keladry could not. Her brothers were still in the Black City and she was very loath to leave them, especially Conal. She had no idea what made her elder brother think it was safe to stay there. So, she had to stay to convince him otherwise.

"Maybe Joren could help. He has to be around here somewhere," Cleon suggested.

Keladry leaned forward. "That's right. Neal and Joren went with you to the caves. They're okay, aren't they?"

The sharpshooter pouted. "Well, last I saw, they were fine. But Joren is here and Neal…"

"Where's Neal?" she asked apprehensively.

"The caves. He, uh, had to take care of something."

He thought of Shinkokami and how she had recognized the dragon maiden before she had died. There had been hurt and betrayal in her eyes. The last few seconds of life had been filled with confusion and pain. It was a horrible way to the eternal unknown. He hoped that Faleron wouldn't have to feel that anytime soon. Cleon would make it his sole responsibility to watch out for his dear friend.

He got up. "I'll go look for Joren, I suppose. He knows where to go. I'd rather go to that other city than stay in this one, that's for sure."

Keladry shook her head and also stood. "No, I'll do it. I need to find Conal and Inness anyway."

She gently pushed Cleon until he was sitting on the bed. Then she patted Faleron's hand and headed toward the door. The guards on the other side blocked her path.

"Let her pass! She's on her way to my advisors," Cleon shouted.

The men seemed bewildered, but they let her go. The redhead smiled smugly and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Being king did have its perks.

Keladry walked down the hall in stiff strides. Most of the guards had heard Cleon's shouted order, and whispered it to others who had not heard. Still, they glared at her, feeling as if she was not worthy to wield any rights or privileges. 

She gradually passed less and less guards. The discovery of a pair of dead succubae in the other halls had caused more of the castle servants to vacate while sorcerers and soldiers began flocking to places of importance. Certain things, such as the advisor's meeting room, had to be protected, but no one came to personally stand watch over the king. Keladry wrinkled her nose in distaste.

After a while, she spotted a man in black robes, an advisor. She decided to follow him in hopes of finding the rest of them. She wondered: what did the advisors do, anyway? Make laws, give orders, and prepare for war? Keladry reminded herself that they had been preparing for their legendary king's arrival for many years. Their plans for war had probably been revised countless times by now.

The first time she had seen the many black robed men in the throne room, she knew that they could not be trusted. Cleon had seemed so carefree sitting atop his throne then. How couldn't he see that they were suspicious characters? _Well, he knows now,_ she thought. And now, her brothers were among them, learning their evil ways and duties.

"Conal. What's going on with you?" she whispered, falling back into the shadows to avoid being seen.

A cold hand grasped her shoulder. Keladry spun around. A hand immediately covered her mouth, but her reflexes kicked in. She lifted her knee sharply, hitting her assailant in the groin. A low groan was heard from the man as he fell to the floor with his hands cupped over his sensitive area.

Keladry stared at him. "Conal?"

"Are you that opposed to one day having nieces and nephews from me?" he ground out between clenched teeth. 

She kneeled beside him and pulled back his hood. "You deserved it. You shouldn't have sneaked up behind me." Remembering why she had been seeking him out in the first place, she folded her arms across her chest and glared. "And you have a _lot_ of explaining to do."

Keladry helped him to stand, though Conal was still partially bent over, face flushed. He looked up at her with an emotion that she couldn't name. She met his gaze with equal intensity. 

"I don't have to explain anything to you," he said coldly.

"Yes you do! I'm your sister! So what's with this idea about staying and working here? I thought you wanted to break into the advertising business or something."

Conal snorted. "Do you have any remote idea what I went to night school for?"

She didn't.

He continued, straightening up painfully and leaning against the wall. "I've been learning electricity. Electrical engineering." Conal spread his arms to gesture to the castle around them. "This place can't stay off the map forever. They need to make the transition into the modern era. I'm sure that this magic of theirs is some branch of science yet to be discovered. If I combine that with modern technology—"

"No!" Keladry cried. "What are you thinking? Conal, you can't trust these people. By Glory, they _shot_ Faleron!"

"Only because _you_ didn't cooperate. I heard what happened. If you had just played along until you had found a better plan, then your friend wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed dying," her brother spat, pointing a finger accusingly at her.

Keladry took a step back. She forced herself to remain cool and collected.  "What can I say? I don't play along with madmen."

"Then that's the difference between you and me. You won't play the game, but I will." He pushed off the wall and began walking down the hall headed in the direction of the man she had been following. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't send Inness to spy on me. Get him and go home. I don't need you to protect me, _baby_ sister."

The clip-clop sound of his shoes on the flagstone floor echoed with a sense of finality. Keladry slumped to the ground, staring blankly at the space in front of her. She still couldn't believe what had just happened. The same feeling of surrealism that she had experienced when learning of her brothers' missing plane now filled every inch of her body. It wouldn't leave her alone.

_He didn't. No. An imposter just walked away from me. That's all. That's not Conal. It can't be. Inness would have told me if it was all just a joke. I'm sure it is. Inness must have forgotten to tell me. That's all._

She felt the irrepressible urge to throw up her food like Faleron had. Except that her sickness didn't eat away at her body. Just the soul. But to Conal, she was certain, the soul was an intangible thing believed in by sentimental fools. It had to be subjugated to progress and power. Opportunity had ridden in on a stallion made of gold and jewels and her elder brother had grasped the reins with both hands.

Vomiting out a nearby window, Keladry wondered if he would have pushed her to her death had he seen the opportunity to do so.

A warm hand pressed against her back. Her body tensed for a moment, prepared to be shoved out the window like she had just imagined. Instead, nothing happened. She gripped the stone window still with shaky fingers and turned to face her visitor. _Please. Let it be Conal. He's come to apologize for acting so strangely. He must have come to say sorry._

Joren took a handkerchief from his belt pouch and calmly wiped her mouth. Keladry couldn't tell what sort of reaction he was having to seeing her regurgitating her breakfast, but at least there was no disdain in his eyes. Despite their new understanding, she secretly suspected that there was still some part of her that disgusted him.

"Is he dead?" he asked gravely.

A simple question. Keladry smiled, morbidly amused that Joren had guessed that the cause of her upchuck reflex had been Faleron's death rather than her brother's betrayal. But she hadn't told him about Conal yet, had she? No. It was as good a time as ever to try.

She put her arms around him loosely and buried her face in his chest. "I lost Conal."

And though he had truly been attempting to make an effort at effective consoling, the words came out a mess in his head. He bluntly settled for, "It happens."

Luckily, she understood and hugged him tighter.

~~

Author's notes: Oy. Sorry this took longer than my last updates. School has come back with a vengeance. I'm up to my neck in work and plans. Creativity is at its all-time low, but do not despair! They cannot keep me down forever! At least… I hope not.

I'm finding it very difficult to type with gauze and medical tape all over my palms. Tore off the skin because I lost my rowing calluses over the summer. Ah, the things I put up with for my lovely sport.

Thanks for reading! I can't reveal too much about the next episode. You'll see it all in good time. Confrontations, escape plans, and the inevitable war…

Until next time

-Sulia Serafine


	18. Dragon War

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 18: Dragon War**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**Note: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: PG-13 for adventuring, the usual tiny amount of cursing, and more surprise than our characters would like…

**Author's pre-episode comment: **Sorry for not posting for so long… School blows. There's no other way to put it. Well, actually, you could interchange "blows" with a LOT of words, but it wouldn't do to have an R-rated author's comment on a PG-13 rated episode…

~~

The sun had not yet risen, but Liam was as wide-awake as if it had.  He could still see the moon, a waxy light that did not comfort him at all. It actually reminded him of the pale skin of the sick. It was an ill omen.

He reclined on a chair in the Stargazer Dome, staring upward through the nearly opaque ceiling of the observatory as if it were a misty haze spread across the sky rather than a crystal barrier fashioned into the shapes of blossom petals. There were no stars to be seen, anyhow, so he turned his attention away from the vast expanse of nothingness above him. His gaze drifted toward the covered stairway entrance in the middle of the dome's floor. 

"What do you want?" he asked sharply, his mouth immediately twisting into a displeased frown.

Yahiko recoiled as if Liam had transformed into a snake. He threw back the wooden hatch so it slammed onto the floor. Then he climbed up into the observatory and defiantly stood his ground. The crowned prince was slightly quaking in his boots, but Liam decided not to point it out just yet. The last thing he needed was a royal tantrum on his hands.

"I want to know," Yahiko began, "what it is that you and Uncle have been talking about. Why don't I get to know? I'm the one who inherits it all! I should know!" He paused. "Does it have something to do with Misters Queenscove and Stone? Because if it does—"

"You need not bother with such trivial matters," he interrupted. Liam sat up straight and rested his hands calmly on his thighs. "Your Uncle and I are taking care of everything. You will know only what is necessary for you to know."

The boy clenched his fists. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to punch the impudent man sitting before him. No one save for his uncle had ever taken such a strict stance with him. Being raised as the crown prince had always allowed Yahiko to have whatever he wished, within reason. The arrival of his uncle back into the City several years ago had thus bothered Yahiko, not because he had not known why Enishi had left in the first place, but because Enishi had brought this foreigner back with him as his Second in Command.

Yahiko moved aside as Liam got up from his seat and approached the hatch door. The foreigner dismissed the boy from his mind quickly, deciding instead to focus on more dire matters at hand. He could hear Yahiko muttering angry obscenities just the same. The words were truly unfit for a royal mouth. Liam smirked. The boy would learn, eventually.

Liam briefly thought of checking the gardens for his master. Then it occurred to him that Enishi enjoyed his rest and would probably still be in his chambers. There was no thought as to whether the King was awake. Liam had never seen him off guard and expected it to be impossible. Enishi somehow knew when he was going to have visitors, invited or not. He would be awake at Liam's arrival.

The dark haired young man glared icily at a fireplace attendant who nearly ran into him with his brooms and brushes. Of all the servants to be awake at such an early hour! He sneered and brushed off tiny traces of dust and soot.

The doors to the King's chambers were not as elaborate as some might have envisioned them to be. They were inlaid with silver and white crystal, a picture of tigers lying in wait in the tall emerald grasses. The original image had been accented with gold leaf, but its current owner had thought it to be too gaudy for his tastes. As soon as he was crowned, the golden leaf had been moved to some other decoration in the Palace that he cared naught for.

Liam gripped the silver knocker and rapped it three times against the door.  Without waiting for a reply that he knew would never come, he opened the door and slipped inside. Just as he expected, his master stood alert in his light blue silk robes, hands clasped behind his back as he faced the pre-dawn through his open window. The air was warmer than expected. Liam suddenly noticed how cold he had been.

"I've already given out orders of preparation, if that's what you're thinking. The generals are preparing defense tactics as we speak," Enishi said, never moving from his spot.

Liam bowed his head slightly. "I thought you would have. I was just wondering—"

"How you might be of more use? What, no quarrels today?" his master questioned airily. "Oh, but you love to be quarrelsome. I'm somewhat surprised you have not kept your disagreeable temperament."

The younger man was taken aback by the harsh reply. "I… I had time to think while I was traveling back here. That is all."

"Amazing what a little time can do," Enishi remarked. He didn't believe the response, but he would not delve into it at the time being. There were too many other problems to deal with. He flippantly continued. "You know, you and Yahiko are more alike than you might like to think. Both feeling threatened by a change in the status quo."

"I do not feel threatened by him," Liam insisted, face muscles tense as he set his jaw firmly.

And Enishi knew that he was not really referring to the boy prince.

"The guns. Are you going to use them?" Liam inquired, hastily changing the subject.

"Only if it is completely necessary. We have done well without them. I do not need a bunch of inexperienced men shooting themselves in the feet. More harm than good, wouldn't you say?"

The two men stood in easy silence after that sentence.  Liam knew he was not to answer. Frankly, he didn't want to. One more defeat after another.

Things could be tiring. Actually, they were downright exhausting.

~~

Joren had something resembling a plan. It was not a thorough plan, or even a decent plan, but a plan nevertheless. Certain complications arose to ensure that he would have a difficult time attempting to plan or organize anything, really. Keladry refused to leave her brothers, despite cold threats made by Conal. If Joren could have his way, he would hogtie the Mindelan brothers and send them with Cleon, Faleron, and Keladry back to the City, whether they liked it or not. At least they would all be safe there. 

His biggest problem was currently figuring out how to transport Faleron on the back of a wolf for dozens of miles. The severely ill man would require warmth and treatment, if he managed to survive long enough to leave the Black City.

The medical supplies were badly organized and labeled. He had sort through them until he came up with basic pain reducers and anything else Faleron might need. Extra layers of warm clothing were also necessary for survival. But all that bulk would slow them down. And they needed to get Faleron help as quickly as possible.

Could Cleon take this responsibility? For all his innate immaturity, Joren had to admit that the redhead pulled through in a crisis. At least the wolves knew the way home. Cleon, despite his good heart, would probably lead them in circles until they froze to death.

Joren surveyed the packs, making sure they were as small and light as possible. Keladry sat nervously on a stool beside a fireplace, behaving like someone very unlike herself.

"I'll go with them, if you really want me to," she said at last, glancing at the blond with guilty eyes.

He looked up, meeting her gaze and holding it. He offered her a placating, but brief smile. "Your mind would be somewhere else. Your head would need to be in the game in order to lead them."

The remorse only increased in her expression. Joren sighed. He leaned over her and brushed her cheek with a gentleman's kiss that he immediately regretted. "Look. It will help to have you with me. Trust me on that."

She nodded, though she did not visibly relax.

"I need to find a way to sneak them out. Can you keep those guards distracted?"

Keladry frowned. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

He thought about it for a moment. Then he bent toward her and whispered in her ear. For a few moments, Keladry's face was blank. Then her expression turned into that of revulsion. Finally, she sighed and nodded. He needed her to do this. And she would. She wouldn't ­_like_ it, of course, but there were a lot of things she didn't like. 

This being one of them.

She excused herself from the room and went out into the hall. She was immediately under the observation of every watch guard within range. They followed her with their eyes, stoically noting every little movement she made. She could imagine every double-headed axe, spear, sword, and dagger that they had all coming at her with deadly precision. What she was about to do was risky, too risky for words.

Keladry cursed silently before she made a pained face and fell to her knees a few meters away from the door. She clutched at her lower abdomen and groaned faintly.

"What's the meaning of this?" the nearest man demanded. He tipped back his helmet and clutched his spear tightly in his gloved hands.

"What does it look like?" Keladry snapped at him. "I have cramps!"

The guards who heard this exchanged confused looks.

She rolled her eyes. "As if I would expect any of you to know! Quick! Get me some…" She rattled her brain for a fake cure-all. "Bread! Fresh bread! And warm milk! Not that goat's milk crap… actual cow's milk!"

A few staged groans followed this, followed by a rather pitiable squeal.

The guards were now at a loss for words. They looked to each other for guidance, but none of them had ever heard of such a thing. There had always been rumors of what certain illnesses were endured by females alone. Unfortunately for their curious minds, they had been raised as soldiers for the majority of their lives, with little interaction with women outside of passing a serving maid in the hall. 

"Are you just going to stand there? Or shall I wake all your _superiors_ with my belly-aching?" Keladry yelled at them, trying to recall how irate Lalasa sounded when the Carthaki woman was impatiently ordering someone around.

"You! Go!" one of the older guards commanded to a younger man who subsequently scurried away like a frightened rabbit. The rest continued to look awkward and uncomfortable as they crowded around Keladry, still on her knees and clutching her middle.

She was almost curled up in the fetal position when she noticed that the door to the room she had been inside had opened ever so slightly. A dark shadow fled, one she only assumed belonged to Joren. Luckily for him, she had made enough noise to attract all the surrounding guards. The ignorant men had abandoned their posts, anxious to see the cause of commotion. Their new quests to know what exactly ailed females overwhelmed their ingrained training for duty and kingdom.

"Should you not move to… to a chair or bed?" a guard asked.

Keladry shook her head. "No! I must stay where I am. That's important! And…" She threw in another sickly moan. "And I need you all to ward off the bad spirits! Women are very vulnerable to bad spirits when they have the cramps!"

"How do we do that?" another one asked.

"Turn in circles," she blurted out before she could make sense of what she was saying. "And chant, uh…. 'Spirits be gone!'" She gave them a very threatening look. "If I'm overcome with evil spirits while I'm lying here with the cramps, my brother—_your superior!_—will be sure to know! And then you'll be in big trouble!"

It had to be the most ridiculous, most demeaning moment of her life. But it worked. In a few moments, half the soldiers—mostly the young ignorant ones—were spinning in soldiers and chanting incantations against evil spirits. The elder guards stood back, conversing with each other. Very few of them had wives and sisters that they saw often, so they did not have any information about these mysterious illnesses.

Meanwhile, a certain shadow traveled further and further away.

Joren slipped through the halls unnoticed. He had decided not to listen to Keladry's diversion out of respect. He knew she felt embarrassed. He almost felt embarrassed _for_ her. At least their plan, as idiotic as it was, was working.

He supposed a good course of action was to inspect the entrances and exits of the castle. He considered taking Faleron through the dungeons and the sewers that he'd come in through, but decided that it would cause Faleron too much physical exertion. They needed a safe route, one that wouldn't get them caught and executed.

The walls were too dangerous to climb. That much was obvious. The only other path lay in leaving through the front gates. From a window, he silently watched the people who came and went through the main gates to the Black City. They all seemed to be common folk—servants who were on their way to market or disposing of trash.

He made his way back the infirmary where Cleon and Faleron were still nervously awaiting any news. The guards around this area had also irresponsibly left their posts since Keladry wasn't too far away. Joren found that all he head to do was walk through the doorway without any fear of capture.

At least DJPF security in Mithros wasn't this incompetent.

Cleon bolted up from his seat when he heard the door hinges squeak. "Stone! You're here! What's going on?"

He tossed the tightly bundled packs at his feet. "I'm getting the two of you out of here."

Faleron struggled to sit up. "And how do you propose to do that? Politely ask Maggur to let us go?"

Joren smirked. "Even better."

~~

Dakar had served at the front gates to the castle for five years and for two years before that at three of the twelve gates of the Black City's outer walls. He'd never particularly excelled at swordsmanship or even archery. But he could turn a crank over a hundred times a day. And this was exactly what was needed to engage the mechanism that lifted and lowered the gate. A pathetic job, but one that put food on his table every night.

During his years serving at the gate, he'd become used to the sights. Wagons and carts with goods or trash entered every hour. Squads of soldiers who patrolled the Black City's streets marched underneath him as Dakar leaned out over the ramparts. Even a few succubae and creatures of the night were seen discreetly leaving their castle confines to spread their mischief. It wasn't too rare to see a pair of royal guards and a black robed advisor bringing back a protesting she-demon. Dakar had learned not to give them another thought.

So when a cart of manure arrived, fresh from the stables, he disgustedly turned the crank to let it leave his sight as soon as possible. The attendants of the cart weren't so pleasant to look at either. He recognized the three heavily hooded, cloaked, and bandaged men with disdain.

"Lepers," he spat. "Of course, only they would do such work as that. Give them space down there! Don't want to get near them, do you?"

The soldiers posted at the gate covered their faces to avoid the stench and to protect themselves from disease. They moved quickly aside as the horse-drawn cart was led away. Curses could be heard muttering all around the gate, including Dakar's own despising voice.

Back outside the castle walls and in the filthy streets of the city, Faleron fanned his face. He was seated on the bench behind the horse, beside Joren who held the reins.  He leaned heavily against the blond, not because he wanted to, but because he could not stay upright otherwise. Cleon walked alongside, one hand on the horse's neck as they made their way to the edge of the city.

"Did you have to hit that stable hand so hard? I feel a little bad for him," the redhead muttered.

"Of course I did. It was either him or us," Joren replied nonchalantly. He did not lower his voice. No one was coming near them because of their appearances and the stench. They could speak as loudly as they wished without being heard. As soon as they approached, men and women rushed inside or ran around the corners into the alleys.

"How are you feeling?" Cleon asked. 

Faleron shook his head. "The smell is awful. I'm going to vomit soon."

"Then we'd better hurry," Joren said. He flicked the reins, urging the horse to a trot.

By the time they were through the Black City's boundaries, Faleron was dry heaving over the side of the cart. Cleon helped him down, gently holding him up so that the former thief did not collapse into a heap on the ground.

They abandoned the cart and walked a little ways toward the mountains. The natural terrain of the land, ridges and rocks, everywhere they turned, hid them from sight.  As they walked, Joren whistled shrilly. The farmers' fields were on the other sides of the city so he expected no one human would hear him. The dragon was also still peacefully slumbering where Chisakami and Cleon had last left it. Hopefully, it would not pick up the scent of three Mithrans sneaking out of the city. They couldn't imagine being able to escape the large mythic reptile as easily as they did the gatekeepers.

It wasn't long before two very large wolves approached from the wild. One appeared to be the same wolf Borealize had ridden on. Joren supposed the man had known they would need more mounts to stay in the area. He couldn't have been more grateful if the wolf herder had sent a helicopter.

"They know the way home. Just make sure to tell them to slow down when you need to. They can't tell when you need rest," Joren informed Cleon. He tilted Faleron's face up to ascertain his health. "He'll be fine. Just get him there alive."

Faleron blearily gazed at the wolves. "I'm hallucinating, aren't I?"

Joren blinked. "Sure you are. Cleon!" he snapped. "Don't just stand there. We're losing daylight!"

They carefully placed Faleron on the back of the larger wolf, tying him on with a loose makeshift harness. They made sure he was warm and comfortable as could be, despite his nervous insistence that he was in fact hallucinating.

"They're just… hairy mules, right?" Faleron said, his voice slurred. He exhaustedly laid his head down on the warm fur of his steed.

Cleon chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah. Hairy mules that could huff and puff and blow your house down.

Joren glared at him. "Hey, Red Riding Hood! Get going already!"

"Okay, okay! Sheesh," Cleon muttered. He goaded his wolf beast forward. "See you in a few days stone! And I hope your constipation doesn't bother you too badly!"

The blond considered the departing men very lucky that he did not know the verbal command to make the wolves eat their riders.

~~

He slipped into the castle as easily as he came in. The guards had returned to their places. Even a few new soldiers had arrived, most of them cursing those who had been distracted by a moaning woman writhing on the floor. (They were making the succubae jealous of the attention, the captain of the guard proclaimed.)

Pausing in the darkness, Joren listened to the footsteps of pacing guards in the corridor ahead of him. He decided to find a servant's passage and retraced his steps to the last stairwell he had climbed. There were less soldiers and succubae there. And even if he did run into one, he would be far more prepared than the last time.

As he came closer, his mind drifted to his ever-unfinished plans. So many plans! So much was at stake (when wasn't it?) but succeeding meant more to him now than it used to. Perhaps it was because he didn't have the secret desire to get himself killed anymore. He'd never told anyone about that. And he didn't intend to.

Caring more had made him sloppy, though. Joren startled when he suddenly noticed the glow of a torchlight coming up the stairwell. He reached into one of his belt pouches for Selirithel's stones, but he could not find the right one. The black one, no. The cube-like red one—no, not that one either. He cursed under his breath as the light continued to approach.

"Who's there?" a voice called.

Before Joren could turn and flee, a bright flare lit up the corridor. He squinted and lifted his cloak to cover his face, now regretting taking off his leper disguise to free his movement.

A young man dressed in the black robes of the Royal Advisors lifted a bright torch whose orange and yellow sparks reminded Joren of a Roman candle. His eyes were dark, but familiar. Joren began recognizing certain features in the stranger's face—the straight line of the nose and the curve of his chin. The hair was dark, but beside that the resemblance was there.

_Conal Mindelan_, Joren thought.

"Who are you?" Conal questioned.

Joren lowered his gaze and attempted to look humble.  He could capture neither the look nor the voice, but he continued anyway. "A servant, milord. Just a lowly servant."

Keladry's brother shortened the gap between them by a few more steps. He scrutinized the man before him skeptically. "I've never seen a servant like you. The people in this place tend to be darker. Your skin and hair are so pale. You look as Nordic as they come."

This caused an inner twinge of irritation on Joren's part. The blond dipped his head forward. "An albino, milord. I'm sorry my ugliness displeases you."

Conal shook his head. "No, I do not mind that. Something else… Lift your head. Stand up straight."

Joren complied. He was grateful Keladry had never introduced him to her family. There was no possible way that Conal could identify him. Just the same, how was he going to shake him now? He couldn't turn and run. There would be a shout for guards and whatever other hell spawn was nearby to attack him. All that he could do was play his part and hope he could regain his acting skills from his days as an operative.

"There's something about you. Maybe the fact that… no one in this primitive hell hole _knows_ what an albino is!" Without any warning, he reached within his robes to draw a weapon. The instant that Joren saw a glint of steel, he reacted. His hand reached for his belt. Conal thrust his torch forward, throwing some dust on the flame to make it flare. Joren leapt backward to avoid being burned.

The light from the sparks increased, making it difficult to see Conal in the orange red glow. He spied the colors of the flames reflect off Conal's toothy smile. 

"She sent for you."

Joren froze.

The prodigal Mindelan smirked. "Reaching for the ever-present holster. You think I wouldn't know that movement? That stupid little gesture? I've seen my sister do it a million times."

Joren glared at him. "I don't see how you could have. She never goes home."

"That doesn't matter." He lowered the torch slightly. "I'm not going home again. There's nothing there for me."

"That's a lie. You have your family, you ungrateful bastard."

It was an argument that carried a lot of weight for him. He had no family to return home to. Joren didn't even have a _home_. He'd heard that Conal acted tough, but that persona was not the real him. Late at night, Keladry would tell him random things, as if she was afraid he would never get another chance to listen to them. And from this, Joren knew Conal loved his sister,

Or at least, he once did.

"So what are you going to do?" Joren asked, gauging Conal's potential as a threat.

"Have you thrown in the dungeons, of course."

"You and what army?" The most clichéd thing he could have said, but Joren felt like pissing Conal off. And fortunately, he succeeded.

Conal sneered. "I'm not defenseless. Far from it. But you wouldn't hurt me. Not if my sister sent you."

Joren paused. Then he smiled. "Of course not."

The blunt end of a broom came down hard on the back of Conal's skull. He crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. Joren watched indifferently as the new arrival picked up the torch and cursed as he accidentally burnt himself with the sparks.

"You," Joren sighed, "must be Inness."

The young man nodded. "Sorry I'm late." He glanced down at his own black robes and back up at Joren, the corner of his eyes almost twinkling in the reddish light. "Couldn't find a darn thing to wear."

"I see."

"You must be this Joren Stone she's secretly gushing about. How's my sister? Virginal, still?"

"As if I'm going to answer that. What, did bashing your brother on the head give you a taste for blood or something, Mindelan?"

Inness shrugged and bent down to turn Conal onto his back. "No. But being in this place after a while, I've found that insanity comes naturally."

"Obviously."

~~

The march was under way. The dragon and its maiden were at the head of the army, appearing regal and intimidating. Maggur and several of the advisors and generals rode not too far behind on meticulously groomed and trained stallions of midnight black. 

"Are you sure you saw no one?" Conal demanded. He glared at the man beside him while trying to ignore the throbbing of yesterday's concussion between his temples.

Inness pretended to be disinterested in his brother's ranting. "I'm sure. You were just lying there on the floor. It could have been anyone." He tossed a dirty look in his direction. "I honestly think you deserved it."

"Hey, you _chose_ to stay. If you're so pissed off about what we're doing, you can leave with Kel!"

Inness remained silent. 

His younger brother narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't betray me, would you, Inness?"

"I couldn't even if I wanted to. You're an ass, but you're family." He rolled his eyes. "It's not like when we were kids and I ratted you out to Ma for breaking her designer lamp. Ma's not even here, and Kel makes a lousy substitute."

"You'd better watch it," Conal warned.

They traveled in silence, each sibling far too angry with the other to form civil words. While the march had been about to begin, it was discovered that Cleon and Faleron had escaped. Rather than tell everyone that the legendary redheaded king had gone missing, Maggur had decided to tie up Keladry and put her in the king's carriage instead. 

Four black horses pulled an ebony carriage manned by only one sinister looking attendant. Red and white curtains of silk and diamond dust covered the windows to the carriage. Half a dozen of the most dangerous horsemen flanked each side of the carriage in full armor. A younger man in front of it carried the blood red standards that showed the entire world that this was their leader, their king of darkness.

Keladry, bound and gagged within, could only watch through the haze of the curtains in frustration. She wanted to strangle someone. Chisakami, Maggur, Conal… Things were not going as planned and she had no idea where Joren was or even if Cleon and Faleron had made it out safely.

She knew that the dragon maiden had been asking to be let into the king's carriage since the start of the mobilization. Maggur had refused her, insisting that she be near him and the other advisors to keep the dragon under tight control. Keladry wondered if she would really attack Chisakami if given the chance. If this maiden was the key to controlling the dragon, then perhaps… It was for a good cause, she insisted to herself. She couldn't let a _dragon_ of all things hurt any innocent people, even people she had no clue even existed before this whole mess began!

If Joren were here, he would have said the same thing. The target was the dragon maiden. 

But Keladry had been a strict defender of justice. And the idea of attacking, maybe even _killing_ this immortal girl who had never done any wrong that Keladry had observed—it made her cry out in aggravation. 

_Premeditated murder. That's her crime. She controls this dragon. It is her intent and the intent of everyone else to murder the citizens of Enishijirou,_ she thought. She angrily thumped the floor of the carriage with her foot and tensely stared out the windows again. Keladry couldn't do anything else.

Nothing else but wait.

~~

Author's note:

11-11-03

Happy Veteran's day! Oy, it's been WAY too long since I posted. I think I already mentioned how sorry I am for the wait, but here it is! Another installment of It Could Be Worse! I just came out of four straight weekends of racing. I was in Boston, Atlanta, Palatka in Florida, and home again. And I must say—I am thoroughly exhausted. My mind has been tried with every academic torture known to man (college prep school, my ass.) and my body has been racked with the flu and the soreness of muscles that have been worked to the breaking point.

I think my exhaustion is easiest to observe in my rather bad grammar and editing. I'm too tired to care. It took this _one_ holiday to finally come along to give me enough time so I could sit down and write out the rest of this episode. Oy, oy, oy.

Let's hope I can post again before Christmas. Cross your fingers folks, and tell me what ya think via review or email. Always glad to hear from ya.

-Sulia Serafine, the one and only

(Serafine! Not Serafin or Summerfine! Just Serafine! SARAH-FEEN! Okay, phew. Thanks.)


	19. Sin

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 19: Sin**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**Note: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: R for confrontation, violence, and drrrrama (yes, roll that R!)

~~

Keladry sat on the ground in her tent, suspicious of everything around her. Her attention went to a stack of fresh laundry that she had been given an hour ago. She had not been allowed to wash during the long march to Enishijirou. They were only a day away from the enemy city.

Tonight, Maggur had informed her, Chisakami would be visiting her. The dragon maiden had asked to see Cleon since the start, but had politely been refused. Maggur could no longer stall the enigmatic woman's request and told her that the king's sister would speak for him—that being Keladry. He'd then proceeded to threaten Keladry with the consequences if she did anything to endanger Chisakami or reveal any detrimental information.

There were magical wards placed on the tent to prevent the DJPF officer from leaving. The wards only affected her. Anyone else could come and go as they wished. Not that it mattered. Keladry was alone. No one could help her now. Even Inness had been kept away at Conal's request. She was sick of traveling in the carriage and sleeping in the tent. The colors of both interiors were of dried blood, a rusty red that made Keladry want to throw herself off a cliff. It was a miserable way to live, day to day, but she hadn't found any safe ways out yet.

Suddenly, the tent flap was flung aside as a lone soldier in full armor entered with a large metal basin. She noticed how he was conveniently unarmed—a precaution taken probably to prevent Keladry from using those weapons against him. He tossed the child-sized basin in front of her and went back outside. Returning again, he began pouring two large buckets of cold water into the metal brass basin.  It occurred to Keladry that she would simply have to dip a cloth into the water and sponge-bathe herself. Inconvenient, yes, but Keladry wanted to wash the days of sweat and dirt off her body.

She studied her "bath attendant" warily. He didn't appear as if he was going to leave any time soon. "Get out. I'm not going to entertain you, if that's what you're thinking."

The soldier rested in an easy stance before the tent flap, feet set shoulder-length apart and hands behind his back. Despite the fact that his face was covered by his helm's visor, she imagined that he was leering at her like any other degenerate male. "I've been ordered to stay until you are finished."

Keladry glared at him. "Well, Chisakami will just have to visit me while I stink."

"You are to continue as if I am not here," the soldier ordered, causing her to scowl.

She reluctantly stripped to her undergarments and crouched beside the basin. It took a great portion of her self-control not to blush as brightly red as Cleon's hair, so she kept her face down turned and had her limbs tucked in close to shield herself from roaming eyes. Eventually, she turned to glance at him.

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try and run him off again. "Have you no respect?" she mustered in her most stately voice. "I am the king's sister!"

"An appreciative sight, I assure you."

Keladry almost detected a trace of amusement from under the visor. Even the mocking tone struck a chord deep inside her subconscious, urging her to recall just what about that acidic reply was so familiar. "He'll be furious when I tell him."

The soldier snorted airily. "As if I care about that hyperactive moron."

She nearly stopped breathing. Nearly.

"Joren!" she whispered furiously, standing up immediately with a red face. She nimbly jumped over the basin and forcibly shoved back the helmet visor to confirm her suspicions. "You _jerk_! This whole time, you've been—"

"Penetrating army security and looking for a way to get in touch with you, yes," he finished, the corner of his lips tugging upward into a crooked smile. "I've actually been receiving information from Inness. He's leaking as much information as he can, but they limit his knowledge. Conal is making sure of that." His eyes wandered below her face.

Keladry remembered that she was still only wearing her undergarments and immediately crossed her arms over her chest. "Turn around."

"Why? It's not like you haven't seen _me_ in my skivvies before," he replied with a shrug.

She shoved his shoulder, goading him to turn around. He complied, but not before rolling his eyes. Keladry glared at his turned back. "For the record, I never intended to _see_ you in your… your skivvies!"

"Can we get back to the more important matter at hand?" he interrupted calmly. 

Keladry returned to washing herself, now finding an even better reason to hurry. Despite their new 'relationship', she still felt uncomfortable about certain… _things_. She was half glad that he was so quick to return to business. The other half of her, however, was partly offended that he made no mention of missing her over the last week. Glory knew that she had missed _him_.

It was a weakness that she did not like, not the slightest bit.

"So what's the plan?" she asked quietly.

"I've been watching the dragon. It doesn't make any moves without its dear little mistress. It's actually very protective of her."

"So?"

"So," Joren continued, "I think our best chance of turning the dragon on Maggur and his army is to get Chisakami."

Keladry was now gently washing her hair. She found a scrap of soap and tried to work up a sudsy lather. When she couldn't, Joren backed toward her and handed her a bar of soap that he'd brought with him. She distractedly snatched it from him and rubbed the soap in her hands. "What exactly do you mean by _getting_ Chisakami?"

"Kill her. Injuring is not enough. I thought about that," he explained, showing no hint of emotion. "She exercises complete control over the damn thing as long as she lives. When she comes to see you tonight, I want you to—" He stopped when he noticed that he could not hear her washing any more. He looked over his shoulder skeptically.

Keladry knelt with her back toward him, the water from her hair running in rivulets down her spine.

"You want me to… to take her out then," she translated, trying not to think of words such as 'death' or 'murder.' 

Joren picked up a towel from her stack of fresh clothes and draped it over her shoulders. He got on his knees beside her and watched her closely. His nearness warded away most of her fears, but she did not relax. She doubted if she could really do what he was asking her to do.

"On second thought, I'll do it."

"No!" Keladry protested immediately. "No, I'll do it. But I need you to tear the tent down or get the wards off so I can escape."

There was an uncomfortable silence after this, during which Joren studied her with such intensity that she found herself more unnerved than she had been in a long time. She finally shivered, affected by both his steady gaze as well as the cold air. He slipped off some of his armor and put his arm around her. His free hand tucked the towel around her tightly.

"I don't want you thinking I can't do it. I wouldn't have made it this far in the DJPF if I hadn't… Anything in the line of duty! I swore—"

"I know."

Moments later, she let him gather her up in his arms and hold her. His warmth transferred a strong calmness into her, one that was distinctly his and now hers. Closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, Keladry decided that his earlier curtness meant nothing and that he had missed her after all. He just didn't say it. 

At last, he pressed his lips to her temple and pulled away. "Get dressed. She's going to be here soon."

He averted his eyes again while she put her clothing on. When she was finished, she picked up the discarded arm guards and began tugging them back onto his limbs. He let her do it, though he'd much rather have done it himself. Adjusting the arm guards more securely, he cleared his throat. 

"Here." He handed her a dagger, sheathed in fine black leather.

Keladry fingered the embossed design of wolves on the sheath. "This isn't from the Black City, is it?"

"No," he replied, trying not to recall Enishi's face as he spoke. He pointed to the tent flap. "I'll be right outside the whole time. I promise."

She nodded.

He collected the basin of water and left the tent. Keladry felt strangely peaceful despite her mission prerogative. She combed her fingers through her wet hair and patiently awaited her doomed visitor. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would be quick. She could make it quick.

Half an hour passed before the tent flaps were parted and a demure young lady wearing a dark blue kimono stepped inside, formally bowing as she entered. Keladry instinctively bowed in return. Chisakami's face was freshly powdered, making her appear like a porcelain doll. Keladry was not sure how Maggur had produced any sort of garments or makeup from the dragon maiden's original culture.

_Maybe they're from dead prisoners of centuries past,_ she thought.

"Greetings, milady. Are you hungry? I have brought a few snacks with me," Chisakami offered, displaying the small covered basket that she carried. 

Keladry discovered she was actually nearly ravenous for food. Maggur only fed her once a day—twice if he felt charitable. She gratefully accepted a roasted piece of meat sandwiched between two halves of wheat bread.

"How is His Majesty? Well, I hope."

She swallowed convulsively. Keladry supposed that she was referring to Cleon, so she smiled and nodded. "I fear that he has, uh, been meditating alone for too long… but it is necessary!"

"Necessary, yes! I agree. He must focus and prepare for the attack," Chisakami replied wholeheartedly. "Nataku and I are ready to do his bidding."

The maiden's humble nature threw Keladry off a bit. She reminded herself that this person sweetly smiling intended to kill every man, woman, and child in the kingdom of Enishijirou. It would be the eradication of an entire civilization. She couldn't let it happen.

She felt the dagger handle dig into the small of her back from where she had tucked it in her waistband. While she occupied herself with setting up a chair for her guest, Chisakami started speaking about the weather and their surroundings.

"The skies are very beautiful at sunset. I have been with Nataku so long, I nearly forgot what sunsets looked like."

Keladry nodded. "Here. Please sit."

Chisakami thanked her and sat. "Please tell me about your brother, milady. It would mean so much to me."

"Why do you want to know about Cleon?"

A smudge of color creeping into her face could be seen under her powder. "After the fall of Enishijirou, Nataku and I thought it would be appropriate for me to marry His Majesty in order to cement the Black City and its people to Nataku and all her children."

"Ch-children? There are more?" Keladry stammered.

She nodded. "They lie asleep in other mountains, but they are there."

Keladry wondered how many of them there could be. Surely, if they defeated the dragon, then none of the others would ever awaken. And what if they did? Would they revenge their mother dragon's death?

The conversation went quickly. Keladry told her visitor about Cleon's loyalty and his humorous personality. She wasn't sure if Cleon would ever have been interested in anyone besides Kalasin, but it wasn't as if Chisakami would ever see him again. After all, Chisakami would be dead by then.

The thought made her gut twist. While the dragon maiden continued to chatter, Keladry tried to find an opportunity to reach for her dagger. Eventually, the conversation ended and Chisakami got up to leave. She turned her back to Keladry as she went to exit the tent.

That was her chance. Keladry reached for the dagger, her fingers closing firmly around the handle. If she waited too long, the moment would pass. Why was she being so slow? Her movements felt sluggish, but not because she _was_ slow. Something inside her prevented her from _wanting_ to move any faster.

Before she could blink, Chisakami had raised the flap with a dainty hand and smiled at her in farewell. Keladry quickly lowered her hands to her side and bowed. The dagger remained in its sheath.

"Good night, milady. Send my regards to His Highness."

"Good night," Kelady echoed, her own smile never reaching her eyes.

As soon as Chisakami was out of sight, Keladry extinguished the lamplight and lied down on her cot. She did not bother to shut her eyes and drift to sleep. Joren would come for her soon.

A couple of minutes since she had plunged herself into inky blackness, she detected a presence near her head. She didn't need o hear or see him. She knew he was there. But what was he doing just standing there? Was he angry? Disappointed?

"Are you alright?" he asked as he moved around the cot and bent over her.

She sat up. "Yeah. I'm fine. But…"

He pulled her into a loose hug. Keladry wished that the tent was not so dark. She couldn't tell what expressions were on his face, what emotions were flickering in his eyes. She wanted to see to be sure. Clutching him tighter out of anxiety, she buried her face in the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Joren. I should have done it."

His hand smoothed her hair back. He kissed her on the forehead. Then, Joren sighed and stood up straight. "I can't stay for long. I have to get to the City to make sure Kennan and King made it there."

She searched for his eyes in the darkness. His fingertips grazed across her cheek once, but it was not enough. She couldn't see him. She needed to see him.

His touch disappeared. She didn't hear him leave. Keladry reluctantly fell asleep, slightly pacified. But it was hours later, near the coming of dawn, when she awoke to the frightening realization that he had never really accepted her apology.

~~

Another sleepless night had Liam roaming the Palace—pacing every room, climbing every tower, and finally stopping to rest in the Stargazer Dome. He hated this intolerable waiting. There was always patience for other things, but he could not be patient waiting for this. As he lay on his back, staring up at the sky through the haze of the crystal, he fell asleep at last. Troubled dreams plagued him until he woke up under the warmth of the lazy sun.

Yet, a shudder ran through his body. He growled quietly and sat up, scratching his head to be rid of the tingles he felt. 

"I heard you, already. I'm going," he announced to the silence around him. His gaze flickered to the hatch door as if someone had called to him from below.

He promptly left the dome. Now his attitude had changed. He had no wish to rush now. In fact, he wanted to be as patient as could be. But he knew his master would be angry with him if he did not use all possible swiftness to carry out his task. And Liam had been very careful not to get on his master's bad side since the last encounter.

It took only a short time for him to reach the edge of the fertile green valley. Many of the shepherds were sitting on the rocks, eating their lunches when he passed them on the back of a thoroughbred horse. At last, he found himself watching the wind move through the grass like waves in the ocean. The effect was hypnotizing, but he could never forget why he had been brought down there in the first place.

Eventually, his blond counterpart trotted toward him on the back of a large wolf. The beastly mount seemed very tired from a distance. When it saw Liam, it also stopped and even lowered itself to the ground.

Liam urged his horse a bit closer. "Get on," he commanded in an emotionless voice. "Looks like he needs a rest."

He had attempted to sound civil, but the words had come out sounding incredibly smug. Joren dismounted, pulling down the hood, goggles, and scarf from his head. Flurries of snow covered his upper body. These bits quickly melted under the unusual warmth felt in the valley, leaving his shoulders uncomfortably damp. He coughed a bit, having been accustomed breathing through the thin cloth of the scarf.

"Did the other two make it here?"

"Yes. They arrived late last night. They're both in the infirmary."

Joren narrowed his eyes. "And the pilots?"

"Sent back to the west with our hunters. They'll be back to their own country soon." He held out his hand to help Joren up onto the back of the horse. Joren, too tired to care that he hated this man, took his hand, put his foot in the stirrup, and nearly flung himself up with all his remaining strength. Having traveled nonstop had exhausted him to the point of near collapse. Liam did not wait for Joren to find his balance and goaded the horse back toward the Palace in a medium-paced trot. He did, however, hesitate before asking, "How is she?"

"Too good," Joren answered regretfully. "She should never have come."

Liam scowled. "It's your fault she's here."

Joren didn't deny it. They went the rest of the way, mostly in silence. Occasionally, Liam asked about the army, any information Inness had given or that Joren had found while spying. Their hatred for each other persisted, but it did not demand their active attention. Other concerns—in particular, a mutual beloved—pacified them for all necessary purposes.

When they arrived at the gate, Yahiko greeted them. The wolf that had lumbered tiredly behind them slunk to a nearby tree to sleep in its shadows. The horse was led away by a handler as the two men paid their respects to the not-so-young prince. He was dressed in simpler garments. His skin was covered with a sheen of sweat, indicating that he might have come straight from his sword practice.

"You're back! What happened? Were there evil monsters or—"

"Yahiko, give him room to breathe," Liam warned. He glanced at Joren. "And anyway, princeling, get inside. There's an army coming or haven't you heard?" He continued to mutter to himself about preparing the initial ambushes in the mountain passes. Then he proceeded to leave them at the gate while hurrying toward the Palace doors.

Joren stared after him, partially suspicious of Liam's lack of hostility. He put a hand on Yahiko's shoulder, eyes still looking after his former-enemy. "Come on, kid. Show me to the infirmary."

The prince frowned. "Where's Mr. Queenscove?"

The question was one that Joren himself had not asked. It had been a long time since he had left Neal in the caverns. How long could Neal have spent burying the dead wolf princess? Perhaps, like Keladry and the others, he had taken on a rescue mission of his own without the knowledge of his partner. Joren doubted that. He and Neal had an understanding. Neither would die, lest they make the last fragments of Kel's world crumble to dust.

_She's more fragile than she looks,_ they had both silently agreed.

"Mr. Stone?" Yahiko gulped.

"I don't know where he is. But he'll be back," Joren assured him. He could not assure himself.

~~

Cleon was pacing outside the infirmary when they arrived. He appeared as if he'd gotten no sleep. His hair was sticking up at odd angles. His skin was paler than usual. There were also dark smudges underneath his eyes. 

When he saw his fellow officer coming down the hall, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Stone! I'm glad you're here. How is everything? Is Kel okay?"

"She's fine. She's being held in your place. Only a handful of people know you're gone," Joren answered. He peered past the redhead. "How's Thief Boy?"

Cleon glanced sidelong at the closed infirmary door. There was a trace of despair in his eyes. "Weak. The doctors are still identifying the poison." He paused. "I'm not sure anymore. I thought before… he was going to be okay. But I don't know."

Joren nodded in quiet understanding. He turned to Yahiko. "Would you mind taking him to get something to eat?"

"Oh, I'm not hungry. Really!"

"Eat. I need all of you healthy so I don't have to worry about you later," he insisted in a less than compassionate voice. "Yahiko, you can ask Kennan about whatever you want—Mithros, the Western Yamanis… He'd be happy to chat."

The sharpshooter was a bit baffled, but he smiled in agreement. He allowed himself to fall in step beside the boy as they went down the hallway. Joren could hear their echoing voices.

"So! Yahiko, what are you doing in this place? And with a full head of white hair, no less?"

"I'm the prince heir."

"Oh really? Because I was crowned king not too long ago! Lost my circlet during the journey here, though. Does white hair really run in your family? Because you know, red hair doesn't really run in mine. I try to ask my mom about it, but she just lies and tells me she found me in a dumpster."

When they were out of earshot, Joren entered the infirmary, being as quiet as a mouse. The infirmary was a lot cleaner than the one in the castle of the Black City. Fist-sized crystals imbedded in the walls lit the entire room. There were rows of white beds partitioned by opaque curtains made of material that almost looked like the delicate strands of spider web. Joren decided not to investigate further.

Two women and a man, all dressed in white hakamas and overrobes, were seated or standing around a bed near the window. The nearest woman stood and bowed to Joren. Her many golden earrings made a tinkling noise similar to bells. The sound irritated him.

"What's his status?" he asked, glaring at the healers as if they were the cause for all the pain and suffering he'd seen.

"Stable for now. His energy has been sapped by the traveling and this poison has been debilitating his recovery." She gestured to the drawn curtains. "You may see him if you wish."

Joren did not really have a desire to see Faleron, but he supposed it couldn't hurt. As he walked forward, he told himself that the former thief shouldn't have come to the Yamanis either. Keladry, Cleon, and Faleron—none of them should have come, no matter what good they had meant. It had only caused more problems than necessary. Like said, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

It was a long road to walk. 

He sat on a stood provided by one of the healers. The curtain was drawn between the window and the bed so the bright light of the afternoon sun did not wake the ill young man. Faleron awoke anyway, seeming to have sensed that someone he knew was near. His eyes fluttered open, his pupils dilated and unfocused. He attempted a feeble smile.

"Hello, Stone. Fancy you being here. How long has it been?"

"Almost a week," Joren replied. He studied Faleron's sickly appearance by just moving his eyes. He did not come any closer than he could without raising his voice. "Are you in pain?"

Faleron shook his head slightly. "Not much. Just… tired."

The blond nodded. 

"Hey, Stone. Reach into my pack under the bed. There's something I want you to get rid of for me."

He obediently retrieved the traveling pack from underneath and awaited further instructions. 

"There's a black stone in the front pocket. Take it, but don't put it in your mouth. Hell, don't touch it with your skin if you can. Do you have gloves on?"

"Yes. What is it?" the former special operative asked curiously.

"A… a present from Death. I don't want it anymore," Faleron admitted, a little ashamedly. "I don't think it would be fair to Cleon or anyone else. Even you."

Joren wasn't sure if he understood what Faleron was saying, but he pocketed the tiny stone, being cautious not to mix it with the other magical stones in his possession. With that task completed, the other man's body sagged against the bed sheets as to show a great burden had been lifted off his chest.

"Get some rest. The attack will be soon."

"Just make sure Cleon stays out of it. He'll try something heroic, the big idiot," Faleron chuckled. "Promise me he'll stay out."

"He will," Joren swore. Finally, it was something he could be sure of.

~~

The dragon stepped into the valley of Mount Enishijirou at dusk. The army followed, filling the mountain passes. The powerful wizards of the Black City disarmed every booby trap, wolf, or man they came across as they went through the mountains and into the valley. With immediate threats nullified, the army proceeded onto the emerald colored plain. Soon, the far end of the valley was filled with columns of soldiers and horsemen, ready to attack.

The valley had been evacuated of its grazing residents. The Palace stood between them and the rest of the city. And it was here that Enishijirou's army took their stand. Large watch fires were set upon the fortifications. Each of the ramparts was manned with archers, bows ready and arrows drawn. Even a few catapults had been brought onto the battlements, but a few doubted their effectiveness against the foe's twin contraptions of destruction.

Enishi stood on the battlements, surveying the approaching danger. His generals were nervous about having their monarch outside, where the threat was greater. They organized their own troops in a line of defense on the plains between the Palace and the dragon, hoping that the fight would come nowhere close to the Palace or the city.

"The dragon. How do we deal with a dragon?" one of the generals asked no one in particular. He turned to glance at his king, standing solemnly. Enishi appeared to be at ease, his calm face communicating the deepest of wisdom.

"We've never tested the barrier magic on something like that," one of the captains remarked. "I don't know if it will hold. What do we do if it doesn't?"

Joren wondered the same thing. He stood on the ramparts near the northern side of the wall. His hands reflexively clenched and unclenched. His gun was loaded, but he was not too certain as to its effectiveness in a battle like this. His unlikely companion was likewise skeptical of his own use. Liam had yet to see if he could face the challenge.

"Look. The dragon—it's moving," Joren announced. His hands balled up into fists at his sides.

"Do you see Kel? The chamberlain? The dragon's mistress?" Liam asked.

As far as they could see, columns of warriors were marching on the fertile plains. Neither man could spot any signs of the female DJPF officer, or for that matter, any of the Black City's leaders. The dragon had crossed half the distance that had been between them before. It took slow, measured steps, smoke and flames becoming more visible in the air near its mouth. Joren could not see to accurately, but he knew the army on the ground was apprehensive of the beast.

"The barrier will hold," Enishi spoke, his glimmering eyes still trained on the legendary creature as if it were a mere pest. From beside him on both sides, his most prominent wizards closed their eyes and concentrated their magic in the defense of their kingdom. Even Selirithel chanted, his slim hands tracing runes in the air to ward off the humongous beast.

The dragon stopped part way from the line of defense, snorting and roaring in rage. 

From far back in the offensive line, Chisakami narrowed her gaze. "They have erected a shield against Nataku. Order your men to advance. They must break the enchantment. Kill the wizards."

Maggur sent out a silent message, a gesture of his arm sweeping in front of him. The nearest captain rode ahead through the lines to announce the chamberlains consent to the generals to continue their march.

In a few moments, the soldiers began advancing on the Palace. Among them were monsters, creatures related to succubae or worse, fangs and claws eagerly anticipating blood. The new few seconds became chaos. The two armies collided head on. Joren found himself cursing his lack of mastery with the sword at his side because he wanted so badly to be fighting with the men on the ground. They were all well trained, but nearly none as hardened by experience. Their nerves would be the death of them.

The cacophony of sword clanging against sword, shields deflecting against blows, and the guttural cries of men and beast as their warred against one another made Joren's head throb. He called it a symphony of death. The accompanying grisly sight of blood seeping into the damp earth under the sickly light of the half moon became to him the macabre ballet of death. 

Despite his repulsion, he forced himself to keep watching. How could he turn away? He had to be witness to these men's sacrifices. If not him, then who? It was all he could do to show his gratitude for the souls that were being sent up to heaven in the defense of their homes and families. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed that Liam had begun to breathe erratically. He, too, must have felt the many young flames being snuffed.

A bright flash of fire filled Joren's range of vision. He instinctively ducked as it came close to crashing into them, but an invisible wall a few feet in front of them stopped the ball of flame in its tracks. It exploded, sending bits of charred shrapnel and warm blasts of air at them instead.

"They've moved their own wizards onto the playing field," Liam muttered, having crouched down with Joren when the explosion had hit. "We must have our archers dispose of them before our shields break."

"When does that happen?"

"When our wizards' endurance has been strained beyond their limits."

Joren thought for a moment. He cast his gaze on the valley again.  Rage boiled up inside of him. "Enough with this medieval bullshit. Take me to the armory. We need to find out how many bullets it takes to pierce dragonhide."

Meanwhile, Cleon stared out from the infirmary window, also being witness to the bloody battle. Where once sheep and cows had grazed on the emerald fields, men were locked in brutal combat, fighting not just for the defense of their city, but the defense of their lives.

He wondered now how he could ever have worried about anything else. How could he have ever complained about the quality of a sandwich or the prestige of a horror movie? The redhead believed now that the only thing worth really fretting about was _this_—this precarious balance between life and death.

The darkness of the night sky threatened to swallow him up in its darkness. He turned to touch a crystal by the window, brightening the light out of an unwarranted fear. Finally, with a cry of anguish, he clumsily yanked the curtains closed and retreated from the window.

In the stillness of the infirmary, he could hear his own heart beating. Despite his personal resolution to stay out of harm's, part of him desired to make amends for waking the dragon and triggering the war. He sighed deeply and stared at the door.

Faleron slept on in peace.

~~

Keladry and Inness had been kept toward the back of the army, near the mountain pass so that they would not interfere. It was here also that Chisakami was kept, silently commanding her dragon through their mental link.  Conal had replaced Maggur as her personal guard, being armed with a short sword and a dagger while the chamberlain went closer to the Palace with his generals.

"The shield is close to breaking. I can feel it," the dragon maiden announced to all nearby willing to listen. Shouts and hollers from the dozen or so soldiers that had remained behind chilled Keladry to the bone.

She thought back to her missed chance in the tent. It was all her fault. If only she had done what she'd been ordered to do, all of this could have been prevented. She was still too far to see any actual fighting, but she could hear the cries of pain floating in on the nighttime breeze. A hand closed around hers. Inness exchanged an encouraging smile with her. She squeezed his hand and turned back to watching the not-so-distant battle wear on.

Before long, familiar blue eyes appeared in her mind, urging her to finish what she started. Keladry nervously took note of the soldiers again, even her two brothers. It was a crazy thought, but it would not leave her alone. 

True, she could take maybe the first few who attacked her while being unarmed, but what of the rest? If only she'd had her energy glaive! She stiffened directly after that thought. Her gaze drifted to the younger of her two brothers. 

Conal had confiscated it days before. He seemed to have become a completely different person while exposed to the corruption of the Black City. She wished that none of them had ever come to the East. For all their discovery and amazement, they had lost more than they had gained.

"Conal," Keladry called.

"What do you want now?" he barked.

She flinched at his tone. "Please reconsider this."

"What's there to reconsider?" he retorted.

She sighed. Wringing her hands, she eyed Inness and the other soldiers watching her. "Let me talk to you for a second, Conal. Please?"

He rolled his eyes and impatiently beckoned her forward.

Keladry rushed toward him, trying to appear as frightened as a rabbit. She gulped and bit her bottom lip. "Do you think that all these people's lives are worth it? How do you know they won't get rid of you or replace you with some other foreigner?"

"You're not going to talk me out of this."

"I knew you were going to say that," she grumbled. After a slight pause, too slight for Conal to react in time, she drew back her arm and lashed out with a right hook at his jaw. Before the other soldiers could reach her, she took back her energy glaive from within his robes and extended it to its full length.

She immediately spun around and caught the man rushing her in the midsection with the butt of her glaive. She ignited the bright green flare at top and moved it in threatening arcs to keep the soldiers jumping back to avoid being burned or cut.

"Inness, get Conal out of here!" she shouted to her brother, hoping that he had heard her. She took off at a running start and jump kicked the closest man, spinning around and also knocking him off his feet. She felt a blade dig into the back of her thigh from an unseen attacker. Gritting her teeth, she swept her glaive around and neatly slashed the man across his arms.

Before she became too engrossed in the fight, she noticed Chisakami running away, an expression of hatred on her powdered face. Keladry forced herself to forget all the kind smiles and demure gestures that the dragon maiden had shown to her the night before.  The sound of Enishijirou's soldiers dying on the valley plains not too far from her drove away her last bits of mercy.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she incapacitated another soldier attacking her and sprinted toward the other woman, whose kimono and wooden slippers were making it difficult for her to escape. Keladry tightened her grip on the shaft of the glaive.

_Remember! Men are dying out there! Men with families and good hearts!_

There was a crack in her resolution.

_The men of the Black City have families, too. Maybe not entirely good hearts, but…_

She forced this doubt away with all her might. Clear blue eyes, a friend's poisoned blood, and the rejection of a brother reminded her just what she was doing this for. With a deep breath, she tensed her muscles and released, burying the flare of her energy glaive into the supple flesh of her unfortunate enemy. 

Chisakami screamed, her arms outstretched toward the sky as if the gods or even her dragon might swoop down and save her. Her widened eyes locked with Keladry's, a look of horror and surprise making Keladry's blood run cold.

_Forgive me, gods… I have sinned…_

"In the name of the king," Keladry whispered hoarsely, her eyes welling up with tears.

They were the last words the dragon maiden heard. And she made sure that her dragon partner had heard them, too. A roar filled the air then, piercing through the hundreds of cries of men and beast. The dragon had identified its betrayer. And it sought revenge against those who dared to oppose it.

From within the Palace, Cleon suddenly clutched at the fabric of his shirt over his heart and gasped. The dragon's cry of pain resounded within him, creating an avalanche of emotions. For some reason that he could not describe, he fell to his knees in pain and began to sob over something that he had never truly known until then: loss.

~~

Author's note:

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Something tells me I should be helping my ma with the cooking, but after all that war and death, I don't think I can stand to look at cheery place settings and food. Anyway, thanks for reading! Would love to hear from you guys, via review or email. 

We're winding down to the last couple of episodes of the season! Who knows what will happen now? It's a tortuous trip for our heroes, but we'll be with them every step of the way!

-Sulia Serafine


	20. Slaying

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 20: Slaying**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**Note: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: R for confrontation, violence, and drrrrama (yes, roll that R!)

~~

Inness had been running a long time. At least, he had been trying to run. It was difficult to do so while dragging his half-conscious brother through the fray. He could no longer see where his sister had fled, several soldiers chasing after her. The moon was climbing in the sky, but a thick fog was rolling in from the mountaintops, effectively blocking any light that the lunar messenger had to give.

He set his brother leaning against the side of a supply wagon, heaving with the effort. Conal groaned, the side of his face showing signs of bruising from where their sister had punched him. Inness noticed and patted his brother's cheek. His little brother groaned again, tossing his head. 

"Little sister sure does pack a wallop, doesn't she?" he muttered. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and glanced around him.

It seemed like the fight was coming closer. It was still too dark, but the flashes of fire from torches and wizards were indication of where the fighting had spread. 

"If you can hear me, stay put. I'm going to find us some weapons or… or something." He made sure Conal was comfortable before darting away, intent on his task. Of course, when spending the last few years of your life studying anthropology, one doesn't necessarily pick up the skills needed to survive in hostile territory. He found it even more difficult when the fog fell even heavier over the valley.

A little later, Keladry began to circle back to look for her brothers. She had lost most of the men on her trail. Those who had caught up with her had been unfortunate enough to receive mind-scrambling blows that would leave them with the mother of all headaches in the morning. The DJPF winced as she shifted her weight too much onto her wounded leg. She had torn off some of her own sleeve to tie around her leg, but she could tell that the cloth was already dark and wet with her own blood.

She could barely see a foot in front of her with the fog now rushing in. Keladry felt a shiver tingle her spine as she crouched low to avoid being an easy target—not that anyone could do much targeting with the lack of visibility. But she wouldn't put it past one of the wizards to remedy that handicap. 

Keladry briefly considered increasing the flare of her energy glaive, but instead extinguished it. She'd be better off not attracting anyone with her light source. The handle of Joren's dagger was suddenly in her hand and she was surprised to realize that she had been clutching it spastically after throwing herself into the blackness of night.

A sound off to her left caused her to suck in her breath and hold in. She could barely hear it, but she identified it as a man cursing and shuffling around while trying to find his way in the fog. What if it was one of her brothers? What if it _wasn't_?

She took a step backward. The gravel under her foot scraped against the bottom of her boot, making a lot more noise than she intended. Keladry cringed and tightened her grip on the dagger's handle at her waist.

A knife flew out of the fog straight at Keladry. She almost didn't see it in time and jerked to the side, only to have the blade graze her cheek. Her hand flew to her face as she reacted, throwing her own dagger and running parallel to her attacker in a millisecond of fluid motions. 

She heard the man cry out in pain. A few moments later, there was a heavy thud. Keladry breathed a sigh of relief and continued to run to the best of her ability. Her leg was troubling her, but she had to concentrate on finding her brothers now. Hopefully, no more knife throwers or archers would be stumbling in the fog anywhere near her. She only had her glaive now, and that meant close range fighting.

"What I wouldn't give for infrared goggles right about now," she mumbled, opening her eyes wide to be alert. "I hate this! How am I ever going to find them?"

The entire time, she had also been refusing to acknowledge the fact that a dragon was roaring not too far away—roaring and screaming for her. It was her mistress that Keladry had killed. Keladry didn't want to remember, but she couldn't forget. The monster's wail was deafening.  She refused to succumb to it. Not just yet.

~~

Joren sneered. "Perhaps the most powerful mafia don in the whole world with his own secret kingdom full of rubies and pearls… and you're telling me there are no Uzi's? What kind of place are you running here, Irons? An ice cream parlor?"

"You'll have to excuse our master from not anticipating that a legendary dragon would awake with the sole intent of the City's destruction," Liam hissed, glaring back at the blond. He picked up two rifles and handed one to Joren. "There is a broad arsenal, Stone. And besides, beggars cannot be choosers."

"Not even a grenade launcher," Joren muttered, ruefully shaking his head.

"I'll be sure to put it on the shopping list next time."

"Don't forget the plastique."

Liam's eye twitched. "Of course."

They armed themselves with more contemporary firepower, hastily collecting what they could. A sudden boom sounded from outside, causing the very foundations of the castle to shake. Both men dropped what they were holding and grabbed onto the nearest racks, steadying themselves in the aftershock. Joren ran to the high window, listening carefully to the din outside.

"Those magical shields or whatever they are won't hold for much longer."

Liam slung a pack full of ammunition over his shoulder. "Then we haven't much time, have we?"

They ran through the armory and up the stone steps. As they made their way back to the battlements, another blast sounded from outside. They fought to stay upright, throwing themselves against the walls to brace themselves. Joren risked a glance out the window. He cursed vehemently when he saw liquid fire dropping from a watch post where one of the wizard's attacks had penetrated the shield.

"Let's go, let's go!" he yelled.

By the time they were back on the outside, another volley of archers were sent up behind them. Joren shoved past them, Liam trailing not too far behind. A few wizards and archers lay injured against the defenses, struck my magical attack or arrow. 

The battle on the ground was not fairing any better. The line had fallen back, almost to the castle walls themselves. Joren cocked his gun and pointed it at a random enemy soldier. Then he pulled back, realizing that he'd better not waste precious bullets. His eyes searched through the fray, trying to pick out significant officers or perhaps the wizards who were breaking through the shields.

To his right, Liam had nestled into a niche, resting his rifle barrel between two jutting rocks on the wall's edge. He crouched into position, both eyes squinting. The hit man took aim and squeezed the trigger. Joren's head jerked to see what the other man had been shooting for. Joren could pick out men standing on horseback, shouting orders. There was a space, almost like a bubble, contained with no chaos. It was here that Joren could barely make out Maggur, his arms upraised toward the sky. Joren averted his gaze. Then he was reminded of the real threat.

The dragon. 

Suddenly, the dragon seemed a great deal closer than before they had gone down to the armory. And that was when Joren realized that the reptilian beast was pushing back the magical barrier, not breaking it. It was slowly pushing the barrier toward the castle. Soon, the barrier wouldn't matter. 

The massive dragon's tail swung back and forth, striking down not only soldiers of Enishijirou, but of the Black City as well. It had ceased to act with any semblance of alliance with its mistress murdered. Instead, it lashed out at everyone around it.

A deafening roar caused Joren to stumble and cover his ears desperately with his hands. Around him, the soldiers and archers also cried out in pain as their eardrums were shattered as well. Pain seemed to ripple through the air. The sound of the dragon was causing all the magically unprotected men to fall to their knees.

Joren screamed as loud as he could, trying to cancel out the sensation. He clawed at his own ears. The pain was unbearable. Then, he found he had lost his footing, and was toppling over the side of the castle. He could feel someone trying to grab his tunic—haul him back over, but it was too late. Joren's eyelids fluttered, and his gaze found Enishi at a distance, standing silently above the chaos. It was as if the noise, the horrible dragon scream had no effect on him.

In all the commotion, Joren suddenly found his breath again. His eyes widened as he realized that there was no steady floor beneath him. In fact, he was upside down. He arched his back wildly and stared at the ground. 

"No!" he shouted.

His hands groped in the air. Someone's fingers were tangled in the bottom of his tunic and his belt. He reached for help, but only grasped the edge of a sleeve… then a banner that was hanging down the side of the wall. The strange grip on his tunic was lost—there was the sound of a leather strap snapping back—and Joren found himself clinging for dear life to the banner. His body flipped over and his knees hit the wall hard. 

He gritted his teeth in pain. "Ah!"

His hands were slipping out of his torn gloves. Joren found he could not hold onto the banner. He glanced below him. If he was going to do this, there was no other time. This was it.

Joren let go, arms wind-milling as he crashed down with an anguished cry on top of two men. They collapsed beneath him. Every part of his body was consumed by bright blinding pain. He rolled off the unfortunate soldiers beneath him. Luckily, they weren't even Enishi's men. 

_That means…_ he thought. He crawled out of the way just in time to avoid both a double-headed axe and a broad sword that were swung his way. The defensive line had broken in that one spot while it held strong in other places, even repulsing more of the Maggur's men back to the emerald fields.

Pain shot up through his bones. He'd fallen harder than he thought. His legs could barely hold him up, let alone allow him to run. Joren reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. He fired at whichever enemies had gotten past the line. Bang. Bang. Two men down. Bang. Ricocheted shot off someone's shield. Joren limped through the fray, gun in one hand and sword in the other. His progress was agonizingly slow, considering his injury and the thickness of the fight where he was. He was forced to parry close range attacks from more Black City soldiers before he could empty more lead into them.

He reflexively squeezed the trigger again, to find his magazine empty. He let the magazine fall and reached for another on his belt, only to find that his belt had been torn off in the fall. The blond operative cursed, and reached into his boot for his Desert Eagle.

A few feet away, a man charged at him with a piercing battle cry. Joren sucked in his breath, and pointed his trademark weapon at the attacker. 

_Click._

And Yahiko's words came rushing back to him from the first day they'd met in the library. Guns would not work inside the City unless they had been magically tampered with. 

Joren gasped for breath as he brought up his sword just in time to meet his assailant. The clang of metal on metal sent a jolt up the bones in his forearms. He gripped the hilt of the sword in both hands and tried to force the man back. They were locked in combat, so close to each other that they could smell each other's sweat and feel the fear spread itself equally over all. Not just fear… pure animalistic rage. Primal desire. Bloodlust.

The second blow, Joren met again, but he was overpowered. His legs could barely hold him up, let alone brace himself against the blow. His arms were still reasonably strong and he jerked his shoulder toward his enemy so that the attack glanced off to the side. Nevertheless, a head butt caught him off guard. His back slammed against the castle walls. The sword fell from his hand. His hand—he couldn't even feel his hand anymore, or any part of his body for that matter. His heart was pounding in his chest, ready to burst at any moment. Had this been a street brawl in Tortall, or a shoot out in Tusaine, he would have been able to handle it.

No. He was in a war from legend.

A shot rang through the air. Joren almost didn't hear it, his ears still ringing from the frequent roars of the dragon. He saw a cloud of smoke in front of him that had not been there before. And he realized then that it was gun smoke. Nothing had ever smelled more beautiful.

"Get up! Come on! The orders have been to fall back! Enishi's finally done gathering his power. He and the other wizards are launching a counterattack. Get up!" Liam shouted, grabbing Joren roughly under his armpits and hauling him up.

Joren grimaced. "My legs. I can't…" He let loose a throaty growl of frustration and humiliation. "Ah!"

Liam guided Joren's arm over his shoulders while holding the other man up by the waist. "Just hold on! We have to get out of here—"

He did not get a chance to finish, because the sky was suddenly filled with blue fire—the brightest blue that Joren had ever seen. It was not like the bright blue flame at the tip of a welder's torch. This was the blue-white of a star's core. Joren knew it. He looked away, but already the image was burned into the back of his eyes forever: a humongous tiger in the sky, made of smoke and flame.

The ground rumbled and shook. It sent the two men crashing to the ground together, as did many of the men on the field. Liam got up again, dragging Joren to his feet and moving the both of them toward the castle gate.

The fire tiger launched itself through the air at the dragon. The two mythical beasts met claw for claw. The tiger was perhaps a fourth the size of the dragon, but all the men on the field ran away from it just the same. 

Drops of blood stung Joren's eyes. He let his tears wash it out and squinted at his unlikely comrade. There was a long bloody gash down Liam's shoulder, the one holding him up under Joren's own shoulder. It looked like a deep wound, frighteningly deep.

"We're almost there. Here, take this," Liam yelled over the ferocious roars of both dragon and fire tiger. He handed Joren a shotgun, already loaded. The soldiers around them still fought, trying to keep any enemy soldiers from pursuing them to the castle gates.

Joren turned halfway around as they half ran, half limped to their safety. He fired at a fanged demon whose humanoid form sprouted slimy horns from arms and back. The first shot struck its arm, but it still charged at them. Joren squeezed his arm around Liam, urging him to stop and turn around with him so he could get a proper shot.

He fired again, this time catching the monster in the face. Joren sagged in relief. One arm still over Liam's shoulders, he emptied the shells from the cropped shotgun and tucked it through a strap around his thigh. Liam reached his free hand into his pocket for more ammunition, but found none.

"No good! I'm out. It's sword and knife from here on out, unless _you_ know any magic," he shouted, still moving them clumsily toward the gates. They were within fifty feet of their goal when another thunderous roar filled the air.

"Magic," Joren muttered, gritting his teeth. "We don't need magic. We need a fucking miracle."

"You called?" a voice said from behind them.

An enemy soldier was flung screaming over their heads. The two men turned, wide-eyed to see Neal on the back of his large wolf, beating men back with his staff and short sword. To his right and left were more men on wolves and horses, riding through the bedlam and cutting down all their foes.

"Come on!" Neal whistled. Another man leaped off his horse and guided it toward them.

"Queenscove! She's still out there!" Joren yelled as Liam pulled him up into the saddle in front of him.

Neal reared around, his face a little paler. "What do you mean she's still out there?"

"Somewhere near the end of the valley—where the supply lines are. Damn it, I should be…" 

A bright torrent of bright orange red flame filled the sky above them. The dragon hit the ground on its back, wings sweeping out soldiers from beneath it and tail lashing at whoever was unfortunate enough to be near. Neal spurred his wolf away toward the other end of the valley. Liam and Joren watched for a few moments.

"Figures. Neither of us will be the ones to rescue her," Liam muttered. They galloped toward the castle gates, where the defensive line was still strong. 

Joren snorted. "Whoever said she _needed_ rescuing? This is Mindelan we're talking about."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

The ground in their wake was soaked with mud and blood. In the middle of it all, two beasts of flame and magic grappled with each other, searing the ground with their deadly fire and filling the air with acrid smoke. 

Atop the castle battlements, with an aura that spread out a distance in many directions, Enishi stood calmly, brow knitted in concentration. Beside him, Selirithel touched his arm.

"My royal kinsman... Both your dear ones are inside now. They are safe."

The white haired king smiled slightly. His eyes were closed, but he rested his hand on Selirithel's shoulder without faltering. A strange cooling sensation spread through the dark robed wizard. It flowed outwards toward all the other wizards and mages gathered around him. They suddenly found their strength renewed, as if they had just woken up fresh and anew.

"Well then," Enishi breathed. "Time to end this."

Out in the scorched valley, the tiger suddenly grew in size. It bared its fire teeth at the dragon and leaped at it, claws outstretched. The dragon, blinded by instinct, moved forward to strike as well. But as soon as it did, the tiger disappeared. The large animal that had been made entirely of flame had vanished.

The reptilian beast roared, thumping its massive tail on the ground. As it did this, a circle of white light surrounded it. It started at the ground. Those men and beasts nearby, ally and enemy, knew the telltale signs and ran for cover. Slowly, the circle extended upwards, until the dragon was completely trapped in a cylinder of flawless light.

The light became so bright and alive that it filled everything. Until no one could see… until all were paralyzed because they believed that they had just crossed into the afterlife. From where Neal was on the field, he could no longer feel the wolf beneath him or the sturdy wood of his staff. From the castle gates, Joren could no longer feel the pain in his kneecaps and shins. Even Liam felt he was floating, floating somewhere that was not real—was not in the plane of Life.

And then the Great Nothing disappeared. As did the dragon.

Enishi let out his held breath, eyes opening to see a ruined valley in front of him, a battered castle around him, dead men and creatures everywhere on both. The dark sky was still filled with smoke, but the fog had departed so that the moon could shed some light for pity. The King of Enishijirou sighed and shook his head. Then without further ado, he slumped into the arms of his exhausted wizards.

Selirithel lowered his monarch to the flagstones slowly, being sure to pillow the white crowned head as gently as possible. 

"None of you shall speak of this, to each other or anyone else," he warned his fellow magi. "Our king is ill. He has tired for our sake."

~~

Cleon looked up when the door to the infirmary opened. He had pressed himself into the corner of the room. His knees were drawn up and his head was in his hands. He stared at the two newcomers for a few moments, almost as if he couldn't recognize them. Finally, he awkwardly stood up and nodded to them.

"Well. Stone's in an intimate embrace with his girlfriend's ex. I see I missed more than I originally thought," he grinned, regaining his cheery demeanor instantly.

"Kennan," Joren glared. "You're already inside the infirmary. Don't tempt me to give you a reason to be here _indefinitely_."

Liam eased his threatening companion onto the nearest bed. Joren tenderly tested the muscles in his legs, bending his knees as much as he dared. He was well aware that any other normal human being would have broken his legs. Despite the two bodies breaking his fall, Joren had still dropped an unhealthily long distance. 

This also prompted him to take another sidelong glance at his unlikely partner. The wound around Liam's neck and shoulder had already begun to close. It looked as if it had stopped bleeding. By all rights, the man should have been on the floor, dying from loss of blood.

"Looking a bit pale there, aren't we?" Joren narrowed his eyes.

Liam smirked. "You're not the only special one around here, Stone." He turned to Cleon. "And you. I have a job for you."

Cleon gulped. "M-me?"

The hit man gestured toward the door. "The fight isn't over yet. Our men are driving back the surviving forces of the Black City, though, so it is only a matter of time."

The redhead shook his head vigorously. He worriedly looked to his friend's unconscious form on the infirmary bed. "Well, that's great, but I can't do it. I'm not good at jobs! Stone will tell you!" He held his hand out to Joren. "Tell him, dude! I suck at jobs."

Joren considered it. He shrugged. "True."

"Nonsense," Liam smiled crookedly. "There's a long range rifle waiting for you at the gate. And it's meant for just one person. You know who."

"I don't like where this is going."

"Oh, but you will," he assured. He walked slowly toward the sharpshooter, his toothy grin gleaming in the light of the candles. "He's trying to regroup for one last attack. A magical one, I bet, to strike us while we're still vulnerable. Enishi's powers have waned for the moment. The shields are down. Our magic is exhausted."

"A-and?"

Joren interrupted. "Just spit it out already, Irons."

Liam placed an encouraging hand on Cleon's shoulder. "You know who it's for. Your old buddy, of course! Maggur…"

"Oh," Cleon croaked. He looked to Faleron. His body stopped its trembling. Meeting Liam's intense gaze, Cleon nodded. Because they all knew—all three of them—that even the most pacifist of men, like a certain redheaded clown, could give in to the sadistically sweet thought of revenge.

~~

Neal and his wolf had taken cover behind a mound of dead soldiers. It had reeked at first, pressing his face to the ground where everything smelled of death. He'd almost vomited because he knew what surrounded him and what could happen to him if the cover was not protection enough. With one hand clutching the fur of his faithful mount, he'd weathered the bright vicious light that had consumed the dragon and had sent it into oblivion. Neal had come out of the counterattack just fine.

He couldn't say the same for everyone else. Now as he regained orientation of his surroundings, he mounted again and surveyed the scene. More soldiers were rising to pick up where they had left off, though it was obvious that the magical attack had weakened them. 

Weakened, except one man. Neal peered into the distance to see what man dared to stand so erect and proud.

It was Maggur. Neal recalled everything Cleon had told him when they had found each other in the caverns of the far eastern mountains. The Black City chamberlain had been responsible for ordering Faleron's shooting and had claimed full authority over the fulfilling of the wretched prophecy. This was the man.

Maggur was surrounded by several other men. Wizards and bodyguards, he suspected. Neal cursed. He gripped his staff tightly. Kel could wait. After all, she was a big girl. Neal had no doubt in his mind that a few more minutes would mean nothing to her. It would never sit well with him if he had let this monster of a man escape unscathed.

_You're willing to be the hero?_ A voice in his head laughed. _You? Who were once content to be the sidekick? Now you want to strike out on your own and make something of yourself?_

He hadn't seen Faleron since the former thief had been injured. But just then, Neal could swear he could picture Faleron's face, fixed still in sleep but deeply troubled by nightmares. It made his blood boil. What if that had happened to Kel or her brothers? Cleon and Joren? 

_Shinkokami._

Neal's eyes blurred with tears. It had happened. And he would never let it happen again.

He drew his only gun from his belt, one he had retrieved from the spot where Joren had fallen. For all the magic in the world, he would bet all this money that wizards had never anticipated making their spells bullet proof. 

"Now!" he yelled. The wolf beast beneath him stirred, leaping forward in great bursts of energy. The adrenalin in Neal's veins was singing. He gritted his teeth as he held his arm out in front of him, aiming for the black robed men less than forty feet away.

Three shots rang out. Two of the men around Maggur suddenly jerked, falling to the ground moaning and bleeding. The chamberlain turned to see who had attacked. Neal shouted hoarsely, goading the wolf beneath him as fast as it could take him.

He fired another three shots. He was closer now, close enough that he was sure he couldn't have missed. Yet as he came within jumping range of the man, Neal was shocked to see Maggur still standing as if nothing had gone near him. In fact, the dark robed chamberlain was… smiling?

"I see you," he hissed. 

Neal tightened his legs around his mount, but every other part of him was paralyzed. His eyes locked on Maggur's, his mouth open in a silent scream. He yelled at himself to move, to do anything to prevent the inevitable collision. Why couldn't he move? The dark emptiness of Maggur's eyes suddenly flared bright red. 

The wolf howled in pain. It bucked suddenly, loosening any hold that its rider had. Then it tossed Neal directly into Maggur's waiting hands.

Bright red spots dotted Neal's vision. _Can't… can't breathe_… He screwed his eyes shut and feebly tried to push away the hands that were closed around his neck.

"How dare you delay me!" Maggur bellowed. Then he paused. "Wait. Even better. I'll drain you of your energy to strengthen my attack on the bastard king." He held Neal off the ground with superhuman strength so the officer's feet were dangling. Neal tried to kick, to strike out at anything he could, but all his muscles felt like they were stone. Unmoving.

His eyes opened slowly. The moment they did, he stared into the bright inhuman red eyes of Maggur. The chamberlain chanted under his breath. His skin began to glow an eerie green. He held Neal up with one hand around his neck now, pointing his other toward the castle. The chanting continued. Neal could barely hear it, but the wounded dark wizards on the ground were chanting as well. 

Meanwhile in the castle, the unconscious king of Enishijirou screamed in his sleep. His back arched off the bed, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him. Beads of sweat dotted his face. Those watching him nearly fainted when they realized that flecks of blood were on their king's lips. Selirithel roused himself from his weary rest on the other side of the room. He whistled to one of the other wizards at the window. 

"Hurry! Whoever still has enough power left, raise a shield! Raise any shield! We… we cannot let them—" he cried out in pain and began gasping for breath. He reached into his deep pockets for the right stone. His hand closed around a small opal and his fingers squeezed.

~~

Liam's hand reached into his pocket to touch his own opal, which pulsed with a strange sickness. His other hand clutched the fabric of his shirt. He coughed and sputtered. Dizziness threatened to overtake him. And then, he began swaying on his feet. A rough hand steadied him. Joren frowned.

"What's wrong?"

Liam pushed him away. "Your friend doesn't have much time. If he doesn't hurry, we may lose this battle after all."

Joren cursed. He limped to the window, trying to spot the familiar head of bright red hair on horseback. His knuckles became white as he tightened his grip on the windowsill.

"He'll succeed. He doesn't have any other choice."

~~

He was flanked on either side by two other cavalrymen who were charged with protecting him as he completed his mission. A million random things were running through his mind. Would he be able to get a clear shot? What of the rifle? Would it do the job? 

The cavalrymen brought him to an outcropping of rock at the southern side of the valley. The warhorses remained calm and trotted behind the rock as they were trained to stay out of the way. One of the cavalrymen strung a bow and readied to fire upon whoever dared approach them while the other climbed the rock with Cleon. The redhead shakily began loading the rifle and attaching the scope.

"Where is he?" he asked the cavalryman, who was busy holding up a round metal shield to protect them.  

The man pointed to a spot far away on the fields. Cleon cursed when he saw the distance. He looked at the equipment that Liam had provided for him.

"High power long range rifle. Swords, axes, staffs, magic, dragons, and a _freaking high power rifle!_" he shouted out of nervous tension. The man beside him gave him an odd look. Cleon muttered an apology and continued his task.

"How far does that look to you? At least five hundred yards?" 

The cavalryman nodded. "It couldn't be much more than that, Your Highness."

Cleon flinched. "What did you just call me?"

"We were told that you were—"

He held up his hand and growled. "Stop there. Just… stop there."

When everything was ready, Cleon stilled himself. Even the most focused observer could not even notice any movement to indicate that the sharpshooter was breathing, thus the depth of his concentration. Cleon had never been much for sniping. He actually hated it. He was much better at fancy show shooting than something that required him to be absolutely still and far away.

When he finally found his target, he was dismayed to see a living obstacle in front of it. Cleon pulled his eyes away from the scope lens. His mouth was fixed in a small 'o'. 

"Neal. He's doing something to Neal! He's all glowing and… and…" he sighed hopelessly. "Neal's in the way. I can't get a clear shot—" Cleon stopped short. He gazed through the scope again, thinking absently about crosshairs and handicap. He glanced sideways at the cavalryman and groaned. "This bastard Maggur has some sort of sick pleasure out of torturing _my_ best friends."

"So what will you do?"

Cleon gnawed on his lower lip. "Feed Neal breakfast in bed for the next ten years at this rate. He's going to kill me." 

A small smile graced his features. He squeezed the trigger.

~~

Neal had been on the edge of consciousness. His hands were still clamped around Maggur's wrist, but what use was it? He could feel his very life draining from his body and into the evil chamberlain of the Black City. His eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth opened for one last anguished cry.

The piercing pain through his forearm brought him out of his death spell. His eyes opened wide. The gnarled hand wrapped around his neck suddenly disappeared. Neal yelped as he hit the ground hard on his wounded side. He frantically looked around him.

Maggur was on his back, a telltale bullet hole in his forehead. A dark rivulet of blood trickled down the chamberlain's face. His limbs twitched momentarily before staying completely still. The bullet that had ripped through Neal's arm had obviously been meant for Maggur. It had more or less hit its mark without interference. Neal closed his eyes and rolled away from the sight.

He nearly jumped into the air, however, when the bullets whizzing around him struck the other wizards on the ground. They had started to get up to see what had happened to their leader and why the enchantment had suddenly ceased. Neal weakly sat up after a few moments, no longer afraid that a strange bullet would come out of nowhere and kill him. He kicked angrily at the injured, moaning wizards that tried to grab onto him.

"Kennan, you asshole!" he screamed into the distance. It didn't take him but a few seconds to realize what had happened. He cradled his wounded arm. "You _know_ I'll be back on disability leave _again_! Besides the fucking fact that _a damn wolf already chewed on this SAME arm!_"

~~

From where Cleon watched through his scope five hundred yards away, he could see Neal angrily shaking his fist in the air toward him. He winced and laughed nervously.

"Gee. I was hoping he would blame it on Stone."

~~

It was morning when Keladry saw Neal walk toward her, his arm in a sling. By dawn, the battle had been won. She had helped the advancing soldiers of Enishijirou's army round up the last of the Black City army's survivors for arrest. Her leg had ceased to bother her as much as it should have. Perhaps it had been the mind numbing fear for her brother's safety that had driven the pain from her mind.

Neal smiled. "Well, at least you're still in one piece."

"Barely," she replied. She looked at his arm. "Hey. You know, you could get a desk job this time. I've been telling you—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'll stay at the station for a few weeks, _Mother_. Just for you."

Keladry nodded. She cleared her throat. "How is… where are…"

"They're all alive and kicking," he assured her. "Faleron and Cleon are in the infirmary, where _I_ should be. Stone is out here somewhere, I think, still looking for your brothers. I'm sure he's found them by now. Let's go to the castle." He put his uninjured arm over her shoulders and squeezed. They began walking toward the City. "I think you'll like the place. Automatic flushing toilets."

"What?"

"Aw, you'll see. Come on."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley, Joren sat down beside Inness. The older Mindelan was kneeling on the grass beside a still form covered with a black cloak. He glanced at Joren, trying to keep his face down turned so as to hide the tears that were streaming down his face still after so many hours. 

Joren peered at the cloak as if he could see right through it. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed regretfully. "What happened?"

Inness sniffled. "I left him just for a few minutes! I was trying to get help, but when I returned… he was a few feet away from where I had left him. I think he'd been trying to get back to Maggur and the other advisors and… and…"

"It's okay. Take your time," Joren told him quietly.

The grieving young man picked up a bloodied weapon from the grass beside his knee. He handed the dagger to Joren.

"I found this in his chest."

_No._

Joren stared at the dagger. It couldn't have been the same one. No. Not the same one that he had… No. He wouldn't believe it. Trying not to meet Inness' eyes, he wiped the blade on the grass and slid it into a leather sheath too big for it so the surviving Mindelan brother would not have to look at it any longer.

He laid an apprehensive hand on Inness' shoulder and urged him to stand up. "Go back to the castle and see your sister. I'll take care of this."

"I don't want to leave him. I feel… it was my fault," he protested.

The DJPF officer shook his head solemnly. "No, this isn't your fault." He let his gaze stray to Conal's dead body under the coarse black cloth. "No, this isn't anyone's fault. Believe me. Go to the castle."

"Alright. If you say so."  Inness turned slightly to walk away, but stopped. He awkwardly threw his arms around Joren and briefly embraced him. Joren closed his eyes and grimaced. He hated himself for being rude because he wanted to push him away, for he knew that Inness was grieving. 

Keladry would be grieving, too. Would he feel the same aversion to comforting her as he did at that moment with her brother? Would he tell her the truth? Joren lowered his head and cursed all the gods that had dared to watch the morbid events unfold. But past this, a part of him that panicked inside—a part of him that he would never admit existed—begged like a little helpless boy for someone to fix this… someone with aquamarine eyes that would put the true gods in the heavens to shame. 

~~

Author's note:

Happy holidays! Happy winter holidays, whatever they may be! I've been watching nothing but action and adventure movies for the last few days while conveniently forgetting all the projects that my teachers had assigned over the winter vacation. Screw 'em.

I hope you enjoyed this episode. One more before the end of the season. Hanging off the edge of your seat yet?

Thanks for reading! Review or email, I'll take all comments and criticisms! Have fun! Be safe! Don't drink too much eggnog and stay away from those oddly colored candy canes! (Trust me. Bad experience…)

Love all,

Sulia Serafine 


	21. Lost Horizon

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**Episode 21: Lost Horizon**

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**Note: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

**Rating of this episode**: R for cursing, grief, alcohol (don't drink it, kiddies!), and drrrrama (yes, roll that R!)

~~

Liam rolled his head to the side, massaging the tender muscles in his neck with his left hand. He was strolling down the hall with his eyes closed. He had walked the same path so many times that he had no doubt as to how many steps his body could take on autopilot before he reached his destination.

When he finally halted and opened his eyes, he was slightly surprised to see someone else had beaten him there.

"Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"

"I should ask the same thing of you. By the way, nice scar tissue. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed you'd been wounded weeks ago rather than yesterday," Joren commented dryly. He was seated on the floor, elbows on his bent knees and back against the wall.

"Same to you, cripple," Liam retorted.

Exchanging mutually menacing sneers, the two men knew that they were silently hissing to each other, _fuck off. _The last few days of civil courtesy disappeared into the backwash of history. The old animosity had returned, restoring the precarious balance between hatred and jealousy.

Liam took his position on the opposite side of the large doors leading to the king's chambers. He leaned against the wall, arms folded stiffly across his chest.

"You look terrified," he noted casually.

Joren turned his head and glared. "And you need an eye examination."

"Oh yeah? Got a real reason why you're here and not comforting your girlfriend?" He received no response. Liam continued. "As I said: you're scared."

"Why would I be scared?" Joren muttered, turning his head away. His tone had dropped, hinting to Liam that perhaps he was starting to consider the accusation as truth.

The hit man slowly slid down the wall until he, too, was seated on the floor of the hallway. He idly brushed specks of dirt off the thighs of his trousers. "You're scared because you believed him when he told you he was a god."

Joren snorted. He spat sarcastically, "Isn't he?"

"You saw him, didn't you? He's lying there in a coma." Liam exhaled deeply and leaned his head back against the wall. "It's hard. Seeing someone you thought was invincible… brought to his knees in a few seconds." He stared vacantly into space. "It makes you wonder if everything else you ever believed in was really as strong as you thought it was. Even yourself."

The blond got to his feet. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "I'm going to the infirmary. Don't come and get me until he's dead."

Liam chose not to reply. At that moment, the doors to the king's chambers opened. A small head of unruly white hair poked out. When Yahiko saw who was there, he grinned immediately and launched himself at the DJPF officer. 

Joren stumbled when the young prince's suddenly attached himself around Joren's waist, rambling dozens of things that he could not make heads or tails of. At last, he loosened the vise-like grip of the royal youth and bent down to address him.

"Slow down, Yahiko. The battle's over now. You can relax."

"I've been waiting for you and Mr. Queenscove to get back! You rescued all those guys and Cousin Selirithel told me that Mr. Kennan killed the bad guy! Is it true?" The boy's eyes brightened. "You all saved the kingdom! Didn't you?"

"Yes and no," Joren answered evasively. He could never consider himself a hero, not with so many dead and with a monarch that might never wake. He rested his hand on the prince's head and ruffled his hair. "Your uncle… That is…" He swore under his breath. "I have to go."

He turned heel and strode away without another word. Yahiko frowned, troubled by his hastily appointed role model and his coldness. He turned to Liam with a distraught expression. His shoulders trembled. "What about Uncle? He's going to wake up really soon, isn't he?"

Liam's eyes softened. "Come here."

Yahiko ran and curled up beside his uncle's head servant. The prince had apparently forgotten that he disliked the man who was always breaking custom to scold Yahiko like any other peasant child. He looked up dolefully at Liam. "Uncle is going to get up any second, isn't he? I mean, if he doesn't, that means I have to be…" He shook his head vehemently. "I'm not ready to be king! I don't want to be king yet! Can't you make Uncle wake up?"

"We just have to wait," he told the prince, putting an arm around the youth's shoulders. The boy laid his head on Liam's shoulders. He fought to act like an adult. Tears were springing to his eyes, but Yahiko wanted to be grown up. Adults didn't cry. If he was going to be king, he had to be stronger than that.

"I'm not ready for this yet," he sniffled.

Liam crooned to him gently, stroking the boy's soft hair. "None of us are."

~~

Joren could hardly believe it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then he gazed at the man across the aisle. "Alright. Say that one more time."

"I'm not going back. Neither of us will." Cleon gestured helplessly to the drawn curtains around Faleron's bed. "Haven't you seen him? He's still just as sick as when we arrived here."

The blond combed his hands through his hair and approached. He carefully parted the curtains a few inches. Then he pulled his hand back. He looked down at the redhead seated on the bed next to him. There was a resigned expression of hopelessness on the usually optimistic face. Joren moved to sit beside him. 

He rubbed his Adam's apple, clearing his throat. What he wouldn't give for a glass of whiskey at that very moment. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would calm his nerves at least.

Cleon glanced at him knowingly from the corner of his eyes. "There's a hip flask in Fal's pack."

Almost reflexively, Joren reached under the bed for the ill man's pack. "You losers have been around me for too long if you know me that well." He paused when his hand closed around the sought item. "What the hell was he doing with this anyway?"

"He's always been a man of many surprises," Cleon admitted.

Joren rolled his eyes and took a swig from the flask. He gulped and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He elbowed the redhead hard in the side.

"Ow!"

"Hey, you. This thing's almost empty."

Cleon shrugged. "What can I say? I was thirsty."

"Hmm," Joren considered. He elbowed the sharpshooter again, just as hard as the first time. Cleon looked at him, thoroughly confused. "That's for drinking under-aged, Kennan. But otherwise, good for you.."

"Under-age? I'm not under-age!"

"Oh. Right." Joren took another swig from the flask. "I forget sometimes, considering the childish way you act all the time." He shoved the flask toward Cleon, striking him in the belly and knocking the breath out of the other man. While Cleon was rubbing his abdomen and grimacing, Joren stood up and smirked. "So it's decided. You're both staying behind."

"Yeah," Cleon managed with a cough. "If that's alright with you."

He watched Joren leave the infirmary with a more comfortable swagger than when he had entered. It unnerved him to see someone he considered to be so mean-spirited and serious to act almost normal. He chalked it up to being in a foreign country, surrounded by things of myth and magic, rather than any real personality change.

But then again, they had all changed in their own ways. Cleon fell back against the bed, spreading his arms and legs out haphazardly. The flask fell from his fingers to the floor. It made a loud sound. He turned his head toward the bed partitions. The patient inside went undisturbed. 

For the first time in days, he began thinking of home. Not just the idea of going home, but of the furniture in his apartment, the clothes in his wardrobe, and even the movies stacked by his DVD player. He thought of Kalasin and her dark raven hair. She would sit on his couch very primly, almost as if she were in the waiting room of a stranger. But when he would sit down beside her, that aura faded to something much friendlier.

Cleon turned on his side and hugged a pillow to his chest. Burying his face underneath it, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He missed her. And he would have to continue missing her. Because though he was sure he loved Kalasin as much as he was capable of loving anyone, he would not—_could not_—abandon his best friend.

The healing process would be a long arduous one, the healers had said. Now that the battle was over, all the healers were traveling around the kingdom, the soldiers' barracks, and even the Black City trying to tend to the more seriously wounded. They had left some simple potions and treatments for Faleron to take while they were gone. Cleon would basically be in charge of him until the healers returned. He hoped it wouldn't take more than a few days for the army to be treated. As much as he respected their sacrifice in war, he still wanted all the medical attention on Faleron.

It was selfish, but Cleon reasoned that he had been selfless long enough to be allowed some selfishness at last. It was all for a good cause. On the other side of that muslin curtain was a young man who had suffered enough in life. There did not deserve to be any more pain. Not for him.

Cleon sat up. He decided he would go to the kitchens. Maybe he could find something sickeningly sweet for Faleron to snack on when the ill man awoke. After all, the poker king's sweet tooth could never be fully satisfied.

~~

Her surviving brother was sleeping in a guest room. She'd asked someone to give him a draught that would put him to sleep. It was better, she'd decided, than letting him torture himself with dark thoughts of their brother's demise. 

Keladry herself had chosen to stay awake in her own guest room, packing for the trip home. She did not have much left. Most of the things she'd brought to the mountains were lost around the area where they'd been captured by the Black City. She had no desire to return there. 

In fact, as far as she knew, a contingent of Enishijirou's army was already on its way to the Black City to neutralize any further threat. The remaining soldiers of the Black Army had been under lock and key since the battle had ended. Many of these men had confessed and repented for their war crimes, seeking lighter punishment. And the people of Enishijirou had been willing to give it to them. 

She could already envision the fall of the Black City. All the evil would be flushed out of the other kingdom and it would come under domain of the king of Enishijirou. Two kingdoms on either side of a lost continent, united by the ravages of war. Keladry could hardly wait to see the harsh appearance of the black castle and its poverty stricken streets become clean and bright with progress. Many of the peasants and commoners of the Black City were good people. It had been their leaders who had been corrupt.

_They won't be a problem anymore,_ she thought victoriously to herself.

It suddenly occurred to her that one of these corrupt people had been Conal. She sighed and put down the clothing she had been folding. Yes, her brother had forsaken his own kin and pursued his own ill begotten glory on the heads of other. Keladry still had a hard time believing that the once sweet but odd brother of hers would ever stoop so low.

Her new belief, she decided, was to never underestimate the capacity for betrayal from anyone.  The door opened. Keladry whirled around. 

Except for one. There was one who could not betray her.

"Were you injured?" Joren asked. Within the last hour he'd been from the king's bedchambers, the infirmary, and now to the guest wing. Faleron's liquor had made the pit of his stomach very warm and his head very tired. He'd traveled nearly the whole length of the castle by this time and was actually looking forward to lying down on Keladry's bed. Unfortunately, it appeared to be strewn with random items.

He walked over and pushed these things aside, lying down anyway. She smiled at him. It brought peace of mind to her to see him act so typical, despite all the past week's events. 

She flexed her leg. "I was, but this is nothing more than a flesh wound.  You?"

"Not a scratch," he lied. He reasoned that in twenty-four more hours, it would be as good as true.

She shoved her belongings aside as well and laid herself down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Keladry shut her eyes and placed her head on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I said I was, didn't I?"

"No, not that. About… your brother."

It was hard to say. She exhaled deeply and shifted closer to him. "I feel more hurt by his rejection of me and of Inness than of his passing. Does… does that make me a bad person?"

Joren's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't think you would actually admit it. Of course not, you stupid girl."

She punched him playfully in the side. He swatted her hand away and turned his head toward the window. Keladry frowned. She sat up.

"Is that the dagger you gave me? Where did you find it?" 

His hand reached for the dagger hilt. He looked at her reluctantly. His mouth was dry again and he licked his lips, wishing for a drink of water. "I found it in the back of a poor unfortunate bastard near the valley while I was looking for you. A good throw, by the way. I thought you were trained for glaive work and guns rather than knife-throwing."

"Oh. Um, thanks."

He suddenly sat up and hopped off the bed. "I'm going to get a drink. A real drink. Do you want one?"

"No thanks," she whispered, suddenly smelling the alcohol that was already on his breath. And here she'd thought he'd stopped drinking. It had been quite a long time since he'd last allowed himself to visit a bar when they were back in Tortall.

Cursing his tactlessness, Joren leaned across the bed and cupped her face in his hands. "I'm going to get you that sleeping draught that they gave Inness. You need it. I'll finish your packing and I'll take care of the rest of the details."

She grabbed his wrists with her hands. "You're coming home with us, aren't you?"

He stared at her. "Of course I am. Why would you ask that?"

"I…" she shook her head. "I don't know. I just thought for a second that…"

Joren drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. The very thought of not returning home had never occurred to him. No, that was a lie. It had crossed his mind once. Just once, when Liam was approaching him in the hall, while Joren was seated outside of Enishi's bedroom. He briefly imagined staying in Enishijirou, but for what reason, he had never discovered.

He could hear Keladry sigh into his chest. He tightened his hold on her, suddenly disgusted with himself. It had happened after all. He felt the same twisted aversion to comforting her that he had felt with Inness. 

_I'm such a lying asshole,_ he thought. Joren kissed her head again and kept hugging her against his worse impulses. 

"Joren?" she called softly.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

He shut his eyes against his own indifference. "I… know." And he would have only said those two words if he had been truthful with himself. "I love you, too."

At least she seemed happier for it.

~~

Cleon, Yahiko, and Liam saw them off. They traveled to the First District together and stopped in the marketplace to say goodbye. It was early morning. The place was near empty, save for a few ambitious merchants setting up shop. Beside them, Neal found it quiet and almost like being in a ghost town.

He leaned against his wolf, the same wolf that had been with him since the beginning of their rescue mission to the Black City. He'd started calling him pet names. It was a bit pointless to get so attached to the animal since Neal would be leaving. He almost wished he could stay behind just a few more weeks.

After all, what did he have waiting for him back home? His _job_? He'd been resenting his job since his "car accident", so he would not weep if he had to quit his job. There wasn't any object in his apartment that he couldn't live without. Again, he asked himself why he didn't stay.

Then he saw Keladry again. His best friend. She'd surely altered the course of his life since they were teenagers at the Academy. Part of him screamed that it hadn't been a good thing, this interfering, but she'd cared enough to take an active interest in his life. Never mind his dissatisfaction. It was selfish.

He ran his free hand through the wolf's white mane. "Here, boy. Come here, I want you to meet someone," he murmured. He guided the giant wolf toward Cleon. "You remember Cleon, don't you? From the caves?"

"Dude?" the redhead squeaked. He understood that the wolf was not going to hurt him. That didn't stop him from being intimidated by the large creature.

Neal grabbed Cleon's hand and held it in front of the wolf's muzzle. "I have to leave, but you're staying. When he returns, watch out for him, won't you?" 

Cleon gulped. "Um, sure."

"Good boy," Neal cooed. "That's my Lucky…" He frowned. He looked over at Borealize, who was leading them back to the Western coast of the continent. The royal wolf herder looked impatient, and maybe even a bit annoyed that Neal had become so attached to the wolf beast.

"Time to go," Joren announced. He let Yahiko embrace him and even allowed Cleon to playfully slug him in the shoulder. Keladry stared at him unbelievingly, however, when he shook Liam's hand.

The former rival seemed strangely calm. Perhaps he was happy that Joren was leaving and would break out into a musical number when they were gone from the city. What surprised Joren the most was that Liam had not even acknowledged Keladry's presence. She'd said hello to him, but he had not answered back.

She continued to watch, stupefied, as Liam leaned toward Joren to whisper something in his ear.

"Time to get out of here," Neal announced. "Come on, Stone.  You said so yourself. And besides, I need help getting up. Not a cowboy, you know. Can't do this one-handed."

Keladry hugged Cleon. The redhead was a little misty eyed. She cupped his face and gave him an encouraging smile.

"I'd appreciate a letter every now and again. A real letter made of paper and ink, since there are obviously no electronic mail terminals around here," she told him, a bit subdued by the moment.

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned and did a mock salute. A single tear clung to his eyelashes.

Neal mounted his wolf with Borealize's aid. "He'll be fine." He looked down at his arm, still in a sling. "He'd better be. I still have to come visit and pay him back for this, don't I, Hotshot?"

"Heheh…"

Borealize started toward the First Gate. "It is time."

Keladry got onto her wolf in front of Inness. She waved to Cleon, whose tears were multiplying the further away they got. 

"Take care of Fal for us!" she called.

"Take care of Mr. Grumpy-head!" he called back.

Joren turned and gave him the finger. 

And thus the great journey from the lost kingdom of Enishijirou to modern civilization began. The traveling party was somber for the most part. The Mindelan siblings grieved together on the back of their wolf while Neal, Joren, and Borealize remained respectfully distant. The way back home was much less troubling than the first. Relying on the navigational skills of Borealize rather than the malfunctioning electronics of the Mithrans, they were making much better time than expected.

During the nights, they built a large fire, which Borealize kept going throughout the night using the power of a strange red crystal from his kingdom. Neal and Joren decided that there was no small task for these people that could not be performed with magic, so they rested easy. They'd become so familiar with the mysterious objects that the no longer questioned any of it. Keladry and Inness, despite all their exposure to such magic, were still a bit reluctant to trust in it.

"Stay close. The wind won't be able to blow this special fire toward anyone, so there is no fear of singe or burn," Borealize informed them the second night. Neal had already curled up against the flank of his wolf and was fast asleep. Joren likewise settled down close to the fire.

Keladry gazed at him from the other side of the fire. Their eyes met for a short time before Joren turned away to lay his head down. They had not spoken since they had left the city. Though it hurt, she supposed he was simply giving her space to share herself with Inness. It was true that her brother was most unstable emotionally. Keladry couldn't just push him aside to share herself with Joren as well. Not then, anyway.

Inness slept close beside his younger sister, reaching out to touch her with his hand every now and then, just to be sure she was still there. Though the physical danger had disappeared, it still ran amuck in his fragile mind. Images of the battle and the suffocating fog warped his thinking until he didn't know which way was up. It was frightening, and only seemed to be getting worse with time.

The fourth night, Keladry woke up to the sound of Inness crying. She crawled out of her bedroll and gathered him into her arms. Her older brother wept until he had not a tear left inside of him and finally fell back into slumber. Keladry, however, stayed awake for nearly the rest of the night. It was almost New Moon, and the sky was a wide sheet of onyx.

When they reached the outpost where the trade master Samuel Higgins resided, Borealize stopped a hundred yards out and bid them farewell. He nodded to Joren reverently. Each man had earned each other's respect during the mission to the Black City, but it was in neither of their countenances to say so aloud. Keladry thanked the royal wolf herder profusely while Inness remained mute and red-eyed.

Neal engrossed himself in saying farewell to Lucky, his informally adopted wolf-steed. He stared face to face with the creature, stroking its ears as if saying goodbye to a very old companion. The wolf in turn licked his face, eliciting a mirthful chuckle from the injured DJPF officer. At last he patted it soundly on the side and stepped back.

"I'll be back someday," he told Borealize. He glanced at Lucky again. "You can count on it."

"I do not doubt it," Borealize replied. He reached into his pack and pulled out two parcels wrapped in red velvet cloth. "This is from His Highness, the Prince on behalf of the kingdom and his uncle, who as you are aware was not able to participate in selection of such trinkets. A parting gift for you and Master Stone."

Joren approached to stand beside his partner. Neal accepted the gifts, thanking him. He handed Joren the one labeled for him. They quickly unfolded the smooth cloths. Keladry's attention perked when Neal gasped.

"A diamond studded golden slingshot," Neal breathed incredulously. He grinned and examined the precious treasure. "Oh man, am I going to have fun with this!"

"And another dagger," Joren sighed, slightly annoyed by the turn of events. He reluctantly unsheathed the sharp blade. His eyebrows rose in surprise. He held the blade up to the light. Its serrated edge was flawless. He plucked a hair from Neal, eliciting a yelp from the other man, and rested it on the blade's edge. Sure enough, sharp enough to split a hair. He turned it over in his hands and was even more pleasantly stunned to see a pattern embossed in the black leather of the hilt. It was a jackal head, accented with a tiny red gem in the eye. 

"His Highness thanks you for all that you have done for our kingdom. Good health and blessings for you, my lords and lady," Borealize intoned, bowing deeply from the waist. With one quick movement, he swept onto the back of his wolf mount and rode away. The other wolves followed in a heartbeat. Before long, they were only specks in the distance.

Joren sheathed the dagger and tucked it into his belt. An ironic gift, but a heartfelt one, at least. He turned to Keladry and spoke to her for the first time in days. "Come on. Let's go home."

~~

During the plane ride home, Joren waited until Keladry fell asleep to leave her side and join Neal at the front of the cabin. He picked up Neal's pack and tossed it across the aisle. Sitting down beside the slightly bemused man, he fixed him a suspicious stare.

"What did I do now?" Neal yawned, making very little effort to cover his mouth. He looked out the window. It was nighttime, but he still pretended to be able to see something.

Joren folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "What took you so long?"

"What are you talking about?"

"In the caverns," he clarified.

Neal nodded. He scratched his head drowsily and chuckled. He gave Joren a lazy grin and reached toward his partner's vest. Joren stayed still, eyes still trained on him as Neal slipped a smallish bottle from one of Joren's larger pockets.

"I see Higgins gave you a farewell gift, too," he observed, screwing off the lid and taking a sip. He exhaled loudly when he took the bottle from his lips. "We should go out to a bar sometime, you and I." He glanced behind him a couple of rows to where Keladry slumbered. "We'll have to be careful, of course. She'd have both our hides."

Joren took the bottle back and returned it to his vest pocket. "Answer the question, Queenscove."

"Have a drink with me and I'll tell you," Neal replied, the humorous expression disappearing from his face to be replaced with one of absolute seriousness. 

The blond narrowed his eyes at him before retrieving the small bottle again and drinking a mouthful. He waited for him to continue. Neal got up and shimmied awkwardly past Joren to retrieve the pack that had been thrown across the aisle. Coming back again, he flashed a larger bottle and a pair of shot glasses to the seated officer.

"Pull down the tray table. Higgins left me with a parting gift, too. Stronger proof," Neal said, showing Joren the label. As he set up one glass for Joren and one for himself, he hummed a light tune. "How many days was I gone? Was it that long?"

"I can't remember anymore," Joren answered truthfully. "The army's trek across the mountains took about a week. By yourself, the journey would have taken less. So maybe you were only in the caves a few days."

They both took shots at the same time. Then there was a few seconds of silence before Neal continued. "I see. Well, as you already knew, I had a thing for Shinko."

"Typically," Joren muttered. He poured the next round that time. He was starting to feel a little warmer in his chest than a few moments ago, and was grateful that he was not alone in this meaningless gesture of numbing pain. He clinked glasses with Neal again before downing the next mouthful.

Neal emitted a low whistle. "Man, does that thing burn a path down to the bottom of your gut."

"Get back to your story, Queenscove."

"Well, sorry. Unlike _some_ blond freakish people, when I get wasted, I tend to get unfocused."

Joren glared at him. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, yeah. So, anyway, you knew I had a thing for her. I acted like I always did—like a dumb idiot with the figurative roses in hand, yadda, yadda." He shrugged helplessly. "When I usually start seeing a girl and I decide to stop seeing her, it's not the end for her. I know when I walk away, her life goes on—just not connected to mine anymore, right? But this time… Man, I had no intention of walking away for as long as I could help it. But then…"

"She died and when you walked away, you knew that her life wouldn't go on," Joren finished.

Another round. The amber liquid was leaving the bottle in record time. Neal stared at his drink for a bit, swirling it around in the shot glass. He chuckled and butted his shoulder against his partner's. "It was the most surreal thing that had ever happened in my life. I couldn't walk away." He closed his eyes and yawned again. "So I buried her in the caverns, piled rocks on top to make a… whaddya call it?"

"A pyre?" Joren supplied.

"Yeah. That thing. Hmm. Lucky and I stayed." He threw his head back as he took the next shot. Joren followed suit. "We stayed… I don't know how long. I stayed until I could hear nothing but death around me. And I suppose the smell was getting to Lucky's sensitive nose, because he nudged me out of it. I was weak from lack of food, so I ate a little. And we left." He yawned again. "We saw the army's tracks. Figured where you guys were headed. I mean, it's not like there's a grocery super store out in the middle of nowhere, right? Had to be headed for Enishi-gigi or whatever."

Joren snickered in spite of himself. "How much of this bottle did you have before I got up here? Give me that," he commanded as he snatched the bottle away from Neal and tucked it under his arm. "Sleep it off, Queenscove. You're done for the night."

Neal laughed again. He calmed down right after. "Hey, Stone."

"Yeah?"

"We're friends, right?"

The blond growled softly. "What is it with you Queenscoves? First Dom, now you."

"Hey, he's not a Queenscove. He _wishes_. Nah, he's just my godbrother." Neal scratched his belly and slumped further down into his seat. His eyes were already closed. "So come on, man. We're friends, aren't we? After all that bullshit we put up with together? The… the wolves and the weird city—that was cool, though. I mean, crystal powered automatic toilets—I tell ya, that was awesome. Even those blood sucking Elvira's lurking all over that creepy black castle!"

Joren shook his head. "You definitely need to sleep."

"Hey, now who's not answering questions?" Neal taunted.

"Alright, alright. We're friends, you big dumb idiot. Get some sleep. And I'm taking this with me." He shook the bottle in front of Neal for emphasis. "So don't get any big ideas. Sheesh, you're pathetic."

Neal snickered. "Not any more pathetic than you, Stone."

Joren decided not to argue with that statement. He got up and stretched, hiding the bottle under his vest. He made his way back to his original seat beside Keladry. He looked down at her peaceful face and decided that she ought not to be rewarded by waking up to his stinking breath. He spied Inness across the aisle, curled up in the fetal position on the two seats. Joren sighed and sat in the row in front of that one, stashing the bottle underneath the seat and also deciding to prop himself against the window for a bit of shut-eye.

He closed his eyes and thought to himself, _It could always be a lot worse._

~~

They had reported the events of the last few weeks with as much accuracy they could afford to have without seeming crazy. Of course, they had twisted a few details around so as to leave out the bit about wizards, dragons, and hidden kingdoms. They did, however, include Cleon's bumbling inadvertently into ancient prophecy (of a local Yamani clan that they did not name), Faleron's unfortunate injury, and Conal's accidental death.

Even more amazing than their ability to cover up was Flyndon's capacity for patience. He did not comment about the fact that Cleon did not return with them. They had explained to him that Cleon would uphold his DJPF duty of protecting all Mithrans by staying in the foreign country with Faleron. But still, it might not have been enough. If that was the case, the captain did not say anything on the topic.

"Well, the crew that initially crashed into the mountains is safe. As is the crew that was sent with you. I hope Ms. Sarrasri is not too disappointed or saddened by the turn of events for her emissaries to the East, but that cannot be helped." Flyndon tapped his desk with his pen. "I suppose the best thing to do now is to have you personally travel to HQ in Tortall to file an official report with Wyldon, himself. You were originally all under his command, so anything the DJPF does in response to the incident—such as informing Kennan's family of his absence from the country—will be handled correctly."

Keladry nodded. "I'll make preparations to leave right away."

Flyndon returned the gesture. "Alright then. Dismissed."

Keladry and Neal saluted, while Joren marched out ahead of them. They stood outside the opaque office for a few moments, looking at each other. None of them had anything good to say. But they couldn't let themselves part without saying something.

"Someone should tell Fia and Kalasin," Keladry suggested.

Neal glanced at Joren. "I wonder—"

"Don't even think about it. I'm getting out of here," Joren scowled. He stalked away without so much as a goodbye to either of them. Keladry watched him go, a little concerned. 

A large warm hand came down upon her shoulder. "Don't worry about him. He just hates the lying we had to do. All that lying." He paused and colored slightly. "Well, I know you know.  You would know more than anybody what's going on with him." He coughed. "I'll go find Fia and Kalasin."

"I hear she's staying at Roald's right now. Another visit," she mentioned. Keladry sighed. She smoothed down the front of her uniform and checked her watch pager for the time. "I'd better go home. I need to repack. And I need to call Inness. I should have accompanied him home."

Neal shook his head. "No, you need to take a break, even just for a little bit. I'm sure he made it back to Irontown in one piece. Go home and just relax for a few hours. You don't have to set out for Tortall right away. Maybe in a day or two."

"Right. A day or two," Keladry murmured. She patted Neal on the shoulder before walking away. Her nerves were more than frazzled. She wouldn't be at all surprised if smoke was coming out of her ears from all the stress that was wearing her down.

_A day or two. I need that. I don't want to go crazy, now do I?_

~~

Neal ended up back at the apartment complex a few minutes after Joren. The blond biker shut himself up in a corner of the garage where Qasim usually tinkered with his own mechanical endeavors. Neal supposed that Joren didn't want to talk to anyone at this point. He took the elevator up and attempted to plan out what he was going to say his best friends' girlfriends.

He couldn't prepare anything sincere enough and felt very guilty for it. By the time he reached the floor that the Rider's Own lived on, he was more than just a little miserable. When the doors slid open, he stepped out and came face to face with Yuki Daimoru.

He blushed slightly. "Hey, Yuki."

"Hi. You're back," Yuki noted with some semblance of enthusiasm. "I was wondering how you were doing. I was kind of worried, to be honest."

_She looks a little like Shinko, doesn't she?_ he thought.

"You were worried?" He smiled shyly.

"Well, yeah. Lerant and I talked about it every day," she confessed with a small laugh. She looked down at his arm, still in a sling. "Oh, no. You were hurt? Did you fall or something?"

Neal tried to ignore his disappointment when Lerant's name turned up. He shook his head and averted his gaze toward the floor. "Uh, no, not a fall. A misfired bullet from a high power rifle ripped clean through my forearm."

She winced. "Ouch. But you'll have a full recovery, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. If I go to physical therapy, I should have full use of my arm again—no sweat," he replied. He smiled because he did not know what else to do and it hurt to look at her. He pointed past her. "I, uh, have to deliver a message to Fia. Do you know if she's in?"

"Yeah, she's in her apartment. You'd better pound on the door loudly, though. She's got her music on."

"Okay. Um, thanks."

"No problem. Hope you feel better soon," she told him and stepped into the elevator. Neal waved with his free hand until the doors had closed again.

He figured that he only had himself to blame for the way things turned out. He'd been a smidgen interested in Yuki when they had first met, but he had decided to pursue pointless pleasures in nightclubs rather than in his own apartment building. Now she was with Lerant and he was recovering from a loveless encounter with a wild princess that was now past his reach.

As he approached Fianola's apartment, he could hear the pop music blaring loudly. Neal wondered how Faleron could stand that sort of stuff. _Guess I'll never know if he doesn't get well…_

First, he rang the doorbell. When he received no response, he pounded as hard as he could on the door and shouted to the resident inside. A few more moments passed before the music was shut off and the youngest Rider opened her door.

"Oh hey! You're back! Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you!" she gushed, ushering him inside. "You hungry? I have some burritos in the fridge. I can warm them up in a jiffy!"

He sat down on her sofa and cleared his throat. "No thanks. I can't stay for long."

She sat down across from him in an armchair. She beamed happily at him. "Well, it's good to see you. How was the trip? Did everything turn out okay?" She spied his arm. "Well, I suppose not. That doesn't look too bad. Well, is Fal still over there with Cleon and Kel?"

"That's what I came to talk about."

Her expression fell. "What do you mean?"

Neal struggled for the right words. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together. "Uh, you see… Fal was injured. Well, he's not really injured anymore as much as he is sick."

"Sick?" Fianola squeaked. "Like, an infection from the wound or something? Because if that's the case, he should be in a hospital in Mithros, shouldn't he?"

His tongue felt thick and unmoving. He lowered his head and shrugged slightly. "Not sick like that. I don't know all the details. All I know is that he can't be moved overseas. He's better off where he is, where he can get treatment for his illness."

The youngest Rider seemed to be absorbing the information very reluctantly. She pouted, her lip quivering. "I… I'll visit him. I'll take a leave of absence from the Riders and I'll go stay with him."

"You can't go where he is."

"Why not?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

"Because," Neal said softly, "none of us can find our way back." He hesitantly raised his eyes to her. "Cleon is there with him. He's looking after Fal. He'll be fine. It just takes time."

He abruptly stood up and headed for the door. It was clear that Fianola was about to break down at any moment, and Neal knew that she did not want someone she did not know so well to comfort her. He considered going next door to one of the other Riders so that they could be there for their teammate. It was the least he could do, wasn't it?

Prosper was home. The first member of the Riders stopped midway during his greeting when he noticed Neal's crestfallen face. Neal quickly told him about the situation and about the sobbing young woman next door. Prosper thanked him and promised to check up on her in a few minutes.

Unfortunately for Neal, he still had to make one more stop at the Jasson residence. He felt like he had no right to be the one delivering this sort of news. If Keladry weren't already fretting about her trip to HQ or if Joren was more sociable, then they would be much better candidates for the ill tidings. They'd known Roald, Kalasin, and Lalasa longer. They'd shared an entire summer depending on one another to stay alive. Neal felt like an interloper.

Lalasa greeted him with open arms and a pinch in the side. He was a little taken aback by her behavior, but as the happy homemaker bustled around the kitchen for a drink despite his protests, Roald whispered in his ear that Lalasa was about two months pregnant. That newsflash threw Neal off his original task for a few moments as he exchanged pleasantries with the married couple.

At last, Kalasin emerged from her guest room, wearing all black as usual. Neal found it morbidly appropriate. He stood up when she entered, and bowed his head to her awkwardly. He wasn't accustomed to gentlemanly gestures, but she did not seem to notice.

"Just the person I wanted to speak to," he said quietly. Lalasa came back from the kitchen and handed him a glass of ice water. He thanked her and took a small sip.

Kalasin sat down on the couch and glared at him. "Well, get on with it. I have better things to do than sit here with you."

"Don't mind her," Roald apologized. "She's just been in a bad mood since you, Cleon, and the rest of them left for the Yamanis."

Neal nodded. He set down his glass on a cork coaster sitting on the coffee table. He laced his fingers together and rested them in his lap. "That's what I came here to talk about. Obviously, since I'm here, we're back. Uh, actually, not all of us are back—no, that's not correct at all."

Her gaze moved imperceptibly from Neal's eyes to his frowning mouth. "Not all of you. What happened then?"

He gnawed on his lower lip. "Well, you see, Fal was injured. He's very ill right now and can't be moved from the place where he's at right now. I can't really say where because even I'm not sure where it is." He forced himself to chuckle. "And good old, Cleon. That boy of yours is one loyal friend. He knew the rest of us had to return to take care of everything… tie up loose ends and make sure everyone that was rescued checked out okay. But he volunteered to stay behind. Just like the great guy that he is."

Lalasa sat down beside Neal. "Fal is going to be alright, isn't he, sugar?"

"It's so bad that he can't travel to get medical attention here in Mithros?" Roald also chimed in. He was loosening his tie as he spoke, almost anxiously as if the information made him physically uncomfortable.

"I'm afraid so." He let out a deep breath. "They'll both be fine. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that it might be a long time before we see our boys come home."

"How long?" Kalasin asked in a low voice. She stared Neal down until he felt the urge to stand up and leave as quickly as possible.

As he headed toward the door, he scratched the back of his head. "None of us are sure. It might be weeks, months… even years… We seriously don't know how long it will take."

"As if we haven't missed them enough," Lalasa murmured.

Roald followed Neal to the door and shook his hand. "Thank you for stopping by. You'll keep us informed on the latest, won't you?"

"Oh, of course," he promised. He waved to Lalasa and Kalasin. Kalasin was still staring at him as if it were Neal's fault those events had unfolded as they had. "It was nice seeing you again. Oh, and congratulations! All the best to you and the baby, 'Lasa."

She nodded and smiled, though it was a trying effort. Neal turned heel and walked out of the apartment, thoroughly shaken to the core. He wondered what it must have been like in past centuries when messengers from the Mithran war department were charged with telling families of soldiers' deaths. He imagined it felt ten times as worse as what he'd just done. And if that was the case, he was glad that he had not reported any deaths at all.

_They're just taking a vacation in the Eastern Yamanis. That's all. They'll be back within the year and everything will be just like it used to be._ Neal repeated the thought until he believed it to be the absolute truth. And after a while, he knew that no one could talk him into thinking otherwise.

~~

When Keladry stopped by Joren's apartment a couple of hours later, she was surprised to see that Joren had never unpacked. In fact, there were unfolded cardboard boxes leaning against the wall beside his closet. Keladry frowned. She ventured further into the apartment, afraid as to what else she might see.

The bathroom was mostly bare. That wasn't a surprise. He'd never kept many things around in the first place, save for the necessities like toothbrush or shaving cream. While she still leaned on the bathroom counter, she heard the door to the hallway open. He was home.

"Joren?" she called, going back out to the living room.

His head jerked toward her, his brow creased in his curious expression. "What are you doing here?"

Keladry shrugged. "I was going to ask you to come with me to Tortall." She swallowed reflexively. "Why haven't you unpacked?"

He walked past her into his bedroom. He went straight for his closet and began sorting through his clothing. When he didn't answer her, she followed him and stood behind him. Something was terribly amiss, and she'd be damned if she didn't get him to tell her.

She repeated her question, sterner than before. Joren grudgingly turned to face her and offered her an impassive expression. "I'm going somewhere."

"Going somewhere? But we just got back," she stammered. "How can you… where are you going? I'll go with you if you just wait for me to get back from Tortall."

There would be no explaining to her the why and how of his second departure. Joren had a hard enough time explaining it to himself. He didn't know why he was really leaving. He only knew that he had to go. Liam had told him so.

_~~_

_"There will be a private plane waiting for you along the northern coast. It won't be too hard to find, there aren't many private air fields along that coast," Liam whispered, leaning toward Joren's ear so that they were the only ones who could hear. Everyone else was watching them—these two men who supposedly hated each other with every fiber of their beings. _

_Cleon looked away and pretended to be absorbed in something Yahiko was saying._ _Neal continued to play with his wolf, muttering nonsensical things to it. Keladry watched. She couldn't turn away from the strange spectacle no matter how much she knew she should._

_"Why?" Joren asked._

_"You need to be here for him, just like I have to be here. I'm not letting you get off the hook that easily," Liam warned. "Go home with them first. Just for a few days, then come back as soon as you can." He paused. "And don't tell her. She'll follow you if she can, but don't let her. And don't plan on coming back."_

_"You're asking a lot," Joren replied morosely._

_"I'm not asking, I'm telling."_

_And that was that._

_~~_

Joren cleared his throat uneasily. He reached out to her and stroked her hair, tucking some of her longer bangs behind her ear. It sent waves of pain through his chest to see that disappointed look in her eyes. Suddenly, he drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

"I have to go away. I can't stay here," he told her gravely.

Keladry pushed him away so she could look into his eyes. "What do you mean? What's going on? Why won't you tell me anything?"

He rested his hands on her shoulders. Even pulling the trigger and killing Paxton had not been this emotionally painful for him. He tried to conjure up some excuse. But he'd lied to her about Conal. He couldn't lie to her about everything else as well. Could he?

Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly. "I'm leaving. Like Kennan and King, I guess. I don't know if I'll ever come back. I can't even explain it to myself. This is the way it has to be. I have to…" He paused, feeling a revelation as he spoke the next words. "I have to go… home."

"Home! This is your home," Keladry insisted. "Do you mean Gala? Are you going back to Gala?"

"Not that home."

She remained silent after that. He pulled her toward him again. This time, she did not fight it. Her eyes stared blankly at the wall behind him as she rested her chin on his shoulder and tried to make sense of all that was happening to her at that very moment. Rage boiled up inside of her. Hadn't she put up with enough of this in the past? Hadn't she weathered the storm already? 

Things had been going so well for them. Up until they had left for the Yamanis, they had finally been getting their lives back together. It had been so peaceful and full of hope for the future. That same future was running further and further away from them until she knew that they would never get it back.

One hand moved her face toward his until he was kissing her deeply, almost desperately. She knew why he was doing it. He was forming a memory. A great, unfading memory that he could keep with him for the rest of his life—when the years had passed and everything had become old and gray, he would have this keepsake. She wanted to cry, but deep down Keladry knew that she would not let herself spoil this for him. He needed this one moment. For all the pain he had suffered during his life, she wouldn't deny him.

His arms tightened around her, almost stealing all the warmth from her body for his own. She gasped slightly, and he took the opportunity to taste her thoroughly through her partially open mouth. Tears were forming in her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over her lashes. It wasn't right. She had to hold on just a little bit longer. Her own arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in his wheat blond hair. How would she go on without this? Was it even possible?

After what felt like an eternity, Joren released her. He refused to look her in the eye, said nothing, and returned to sorting the items in his closet. He couldn't look at her anymore, wouldn't dare to dream of it. The moment he did, he knew he would not be able to go through with leaving. He'd debated it during the entire trip home. Last night, when they'd gotten back to their apartments, weary with jet lag, he'd stayed awake, staring at the dagger that Yahiko had given him. Considering his options, so to speak.

This was the way things had to be. There might not have been good reason—good enough anyway. In a twisted sense, Joren rationalized that he was becoming as virtuous as Cleon. This was his version of loyalty. Whatever loyalty was.

_Returning to stand vigil for a man you want to worship and destroy at the same time,_ he thought. He cursed Liam for giving him that order. He cursed himself for obeying.

Keladry left after a time. When she was gone, he left his closet. He went through one of his drawers and searched through a pile of folded white T-shirts for the only possession that he really wanted to take with him into hell. At last, he found a faded photograph, having stayed in the back pocket of his jeans for many days at a time. He stroked the picture of the little baby tenderly, then pocketed it again. 

As he started packing up all his other possessions in the cardboard storage boxes, he thought to himself that it was not as disastrous as he'd first thought it would be. The sky wasn't crumbling down. There were no headstones to stand beside and mourn, not yet anyway. At that particular second, he startlingly thought of himself like Neal, his… friend.

"When I usually start seeing a girl and I decide to stop seeing her, it's not the end for her. I know when I walk away, her life goes on… "

Joren stared at the door. After a moment's hesitation, he resumed his packing and brutally commanded himself to ignore the rest of his thoughts. He couldn't be like Neal. Not in this respect.

"It was the most surreal thing that had ever happened in my life. I couldn't walk away."

~~

The next day, Dom knocked on the door, mug of coffee in hand. He knew Neal and the others had come home the night before last, but he hadn't a chance to say hello to all of them yet. He'd seen his godbrother the day before. They had gone out to a bar just to mellow out. He'd visited Kel that very morning, but she seemed to be in a depressed mood that warded him away.

Now as he rang the doorbell of the former secret operative that Dom had known for several years, he wondered what had crawled into Joren's ass and died. No one answered and he was growing increasingly impatient for ten minutes. He considered for a while whether or not he ought to break the lock code for his apartment. Joren had taught him himself years ago before he'd been stationed to Tortall. Now Dom put that knowledge to use.

When he'd broken the code and entered the residence, he halted in his tracks the very second he saw the stack of cardboard boxes and the general emptiness of the apartment. He did not walk any further than those first few steps. He knew no one was home. He knew no one would be home ever again.

He'd arrived to say hello a day too late. It happened, he told himself. Dom didn't blame himself or Joren or whoever else might have been involved. Another apartment was empty, and Stefan would have the chance to rent it out to another officer of the law. The boxes would be put in storage and Qasim would probably take possession of the prized motorcycle parked in the lower garage.

It did not seem like a fitting end at all. Dom didn't put too much thought into it though. In the back of his mind, he knew it was far from the end.

~~

Author's note: And thus ends our season. Hmm. I bet you all hate me right now. S'okay. It happens. Anyway, you know what this means! We're moving into our fourth and final season—but NOT before we have some bloopers! Woo hoo! So hold on tight, because this is going to be one hell of a ride!


	22. Bloopers!

It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)

**BLOOPERS! **

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke. 

**E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? **_And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw. _

**Note: **I'm still accepting people into the _mailing list_. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.

Rating: kinda PG-13. Mostly weird (and occasionally vulgar) humor.

**WATCH OUT!** For the first time in ICBW blooper history, we're giving you _more_ bloopers and outtakes for every episode! We're winding down toward the last season of this series, and I'll be darned if we don't go out in style! …Or making idiots of ourselves—we haven't decided. May the Force be with you!

~~

_Episode 1: With This Ring_

[Scene: Bridal shop]

The first class DJPF officer rolled her eyes as she got up and went to where Lalasa was standing with the seamstress. They were at a desk, drawing up designs and looking at fabrics. The Carthaki woman laid her head on Keladry's shoulder since the officer was taller. She made puppy dog eyes and pointed at the drawing on the paper. "What do you think? Isn't it cute?"

Keladry made a face. "Um, sure… but do you think I can actually be out in public like that without embarrassing myself? I do have a reputation for being a, um, tomboy."

"Oh, pshaw! It's gorgeous. You'll look wonderful! And besides, I'll draw all the attention away from you. No one will remember you were even wearing a dress," she drawled. "Your reputation will remain intact, okay?"

"You're the one with the remarkable fashion sense. I leave it all in your hands," Keladry sighed. She muttered a prayer to the Goddess and hoped that Lalasa wouldn't take that freedom to mean something that Keladry would regret.

"Oh! Okay, I think we should do _this_ with the sash," Lalasa murmured. She sketched on the drawing pad. The seamstress nodded agreeably.

Keladry caught a glimpse of the notepad. She blanched. "Um… 'Lasa?"

"Yes? What, you don't like the sash?"

"It's not the sash. It's the fact that the maid of honor is _only_ wearing a sash."

The Carthaki woman snorted and rolled her eyes. "So touchy. You were lucky I didn't listen to Neal's advice and dress up all the bridesmaids in shiny wet leather cat-suits."

All around the set, the nefarious Neal being an exception, the male members of the cast and crew began forcing themselves to imagine taking very frigid cold showers.

~~

[Scene: Joren's apartment]

Keladry shifted the sole bag in her arms to rest on her left hip as she entered the code into the keypad. It had taken her two whole weeks to persuade the combination from him, but it paid off. She entered the apartment and went straight to the kitchenette. She set the grocery bag on the blank counter and started putting various food items into the small refrigerator and cabinets.

"Hey! You awake? Oh, come on. I know you're awake," she called.

"Of course I am. I heard you open the door."

She tucked a lock of light brown hair behind her ear. Keladry entered the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. Joren laid with his eyes closed. His hands were folded behind his head and the bed sheets covered him from the waist down. She could tell he was still only wearing a white ribbed tank top and black sweatpants. 

"Have you budged at all this m—" Keladry stopped. She shifted around. Then she gasped and bolted up from the bed. "The bed is wet!"

Joren's eyes opened instantly. He made a face. "What? _Yuck!_"

They both leapt away from the bed a few feet. From behind the third camera, Cleon and Neal slapped high fives while snickering quietly to themselves. The director only groaned and shook his head.

"Somebody hose those two down. I mean it."

~~

[Scene: Directly after the wedding]

The mere thought of Joren and a pet was too hilarious for words. Keladry laughed and shook her head, though he didn't find it too funny. She cast her gaze around her. "Umm… I'm going to say hello to a few people. You go ahead without me. I'll get a ride."

"You can say hello to them when we get there. Like you said, 'no one will be ditching'," he replied and grabbed her arm. He tugged her in the direction of his motorcycle. It would be nearly impossible to ride without her skirt billowing in the wind. Keladry was truly hoping to ride in a car on the way to the reception.

"I'll get a ride with Neal. I can't sit on the back of your bike all sidesaddle-like. That would be sheer hell." When she noted his grumpy expression, she smirked. "Don't be so greedy. You'll have me to yourself later."

"_Later_, I'll be at the pet store, looking for your replacement."

"Meow," Keladry blushed.

The director slapped his forehead. "CUT!" 

"What the hell was that?" the blond demanded.

"I couldn't remember the line," she confessed shyly. She cleared her throat and flung her arms seductively over Joren's shoulders. "Besides. Miss Kitty is getting awfully hungry for her Meow Mix."

Joren's eye twitched. He took a deep slow breath. "That has so many implications, I'm just going to pretend I never heard it."

The director glared at the whole cast. "What is wrong with you people? This is _only_ the first episode!"

~~

_Episode 2: Family_

[Scene: Keladry's apartment, post answering machine message]

"I don't know Inness well," she confessed. The corners of her mouth lifted into a small smile. "He was an ambitious student to my parents—we were all home schooled. When he got into the local university, he made it his career. A researcher for the archaeologists living there. A teacher's aide a couple years short from earning his degree. Ambitious…" Her gaze flickered over to him. "My sister Adie said that I remind her of him. Except, I turned my ambition in a different direction that alienated me from everyone. At least Inness came home often."

"Doesn't seem so bad," Joren replied. _Compared to me, anyway._ "What about your other brother?"

"Conal?" She chuckled briefly. "There's a lot to sort through with him. He's what you might call the black sheep of the family. Doesn't go to college. Actually, he… gosh, I don't know."

Joren rolled his eyes. "Really? I mean, he doesn't…go to _night school_ perhaps?"

Keladry blinked. "Night school? No, I don't think so. Um, maybe he… oh, darn. I think he was a…"

"Aspiring mechanical engineer!" the director whispered fiercely.

"Shoe salesman?" she said aloud.

"Black sheep!" corrected the director a little more loudly.

She shrugged. "Trapeze artist?"

"Fiercely stubborn!" the director screamed at the top of his lungs.

Keladry snapped her fingers. "I remember now! Prosthetic toe designer! You know, for when you need to have a fake toe to the one you lost in a freak accident."

Joren squinted at her. "The grief must be driving you insane."

The director slumped in his chair. "As it is doing to us all."

~~

[Scene: calling Keladry's mother]

"Hi, Mom," Keladry squeaked. Now her voice diminished so as to reaffirm the parent-child relationship. It wasn't intentional. Whenever one of her parents was around, she felt like she didn't have to do anything. They would always take care of her.

Ilane nodded. "I take it you got your sister's message."

Her face was tight with restrained emotions. She had been Keladry's private model for self-control and enduring strength. The woman had reared six children already with three more to go. She couldn't be anything else in that situation, or else she would have fallen apart.

"What's going on? Has anyone…"

"We're hiring private DJPF agents to investigate, through the University's authority. They're having problems finding officers willing to go, however. Seems all your adventurous colleagues are at the Roof of the World."

"Mom, I'll go! I'll tell them—"

"You're not going, Sweetie," her mother announced firmly. "You're staying put. I couldn't stand it if another one of _my_ babies…" Here, Ilane Mindelan fanned her face in response to the tears welling up in her eyes. "I can just remember it like yesterday! You were in the toddler playpen and I was still trying to stop your brother from wetting the bed. Which one of them was that? I think it was Inness…"

Keladry's eye twitched.

"And… oh, goodness! You were having the most difficult time being potty-trained!"

"Mother!" she cried.

"CUT" the director yelled. He threw down his megaphone and jumped up from his chair. "What the heck was that?"

Ilane walked out from behind the set, where she had been posing for a camera for the COMscreen transmission. "I thought it would be good improvisation.  You know, to add to the whole family atmosphere."

"We're going for grief stricken, not Everybody Loves Raymond's Annoying Mother," he said through clenched teeth. He glared at everyone around him. "No improvisation! I mean it! The next person who wants to be creative can creatively run to the donut shop to buy me chocolate éclairs!"

"Grumpy puss," Ilane muttered. Keladry shook her head, absolutely mortified.

~~

_Episode 3: Expedition_

[Scene: plane headed toward the Yamanis]

"So what's our plan?" Neal asked. He sat opposite from Joren across the narrow isle. The plane itself was tiny and its crew, very few. The taller officer had to slump down in his seat to avoid striking the top of the cabin with his head.

Joren lowered his hand from the window. He busied himself by putting on gloves, not meeting his new partner's eyes as he replied, "We've already been over the plan."

Neal frowned. "I know, but there's nothing to do. The crew isn't at all talkative."

"And you think I am?"

"Oh, I know _you're_ not. But you're familiar, at least." He paused. "So let's go over it again. We're landing at the base of the westernmost mountain to refuel and supply. Then we'll employ a guide and fly to the area in which the International Airspace Authority last received a signal from the University's plane. That's when we begin the real search and rescue part."

"Recover. Search and recover," Joren corrected.

"I thought we were going to…" Neal's voice faltered.

At that particular moment, the door to the pilot's cabin opened. The two designated pilots walked out, each holding coffee and jelly donuts. They whistled as they walked down the aisle toward the back.

Joren cleared his throat. "Um… Who's flying the plane?"

The second pilot turned around. "Haven't you ever heard of autopilot?"

"Uh, this plane doesn't have autopilot."

The first pilot also turned around. "Are you sure?"

"Yes… I'm pretty sure."

The two pilots turned to exchange looks with each other. Then they shrugged and started marching back to the pilots' cabin. Neal and Joren both stayed silent for a moment. Then Neal got up from his seat, pushed past the cameraman, and leapt out of the rear door. He landed on the padding beneath the fake plane and stomped over to the director.

"Now we're really trying this time! We swear! Can't we get those guys fired and replaced with some _serious_ extras—" he stopped short when a jelly donut landed on his head.

~~

[Scene: cafeteria in Faleron's building of occupation]

"What's so wrong, Kennan? You have a somewhat murderous twinkle in your eye."

"Oh, it's more than just a twinkle, Ice Cream Pants."

Kalasin cast a wary eye on both men. "Ice Cream Pants?"

"Don't ask," Faleron advised.

"Well, let's go. Nice seeing you, Faleron," she said, tight lipped.

He shrugged and waved them off with his hands. "I know you don't mean it, but thanks all the same."

As the couple left, Kalasin glanced over her shoulder at the curiously smiling man. She turned to Cleon, who was still holding her at the elbow. He also looked half bothered, half amused. She looked back again at Faleron and then to Cleon. "Well, he's an insightful little bastard if I ever saw one."

"Please, stop!" Faleron yelled cheerfully from behind them. "You're flattering me, really! I'm blushing like a _tomato_!"

Cleon grabbed Kalasin's hand, as it was straying toward her holster.

~~

[Scene: Joren paging Keladry]

He paged a short message to her, brief as he could make it without seeming uncaring. She was probably not thinking of him. He'd rather that she didn't. Joren knew that her thoughts about him were still troubling, just not in as great abundance as before. There were so many more important, significant things to worry about. He knew it was true. Why… why let this _one_ thing…

Later, when she checked her email, the single message would read:

"WAZZUP! DiS B YoUr bOi, HuNnY! MiSSiN U LoTs... MuAh!!! :) @~^~ "

Keladry blinked.

~~

_Episode 4: Where the Heart Is_

[Scene: Bus station, Irontown]

When they had been an hour away, Keladry had called in advance to let her family know how close she was. Wouldn't they have gotten the message and arrived at the station to greet her? Keladry masked her disappointment as she stepped off the now grounded bus and approached the back to gather her baggage. 

The crunching of snow behind her caused Keladry to turn around. Her hand stopped short of reaching for her bags' straps when she saw who it was.

"Tavin! Oh, it's nice to see you," she managed to say, a bit more tightly than she meant to. Amending to it, she managed a smile. 

The boy before her stood silently, a symbol of apathy. He shrugged, also forced an expression that was meant to be a smile, and moved past her to pick up her bags. Hoisting two over his slight shoulders, he pointed past the bus station with a gloved hand. "Anders is waiting for us. Are these all the bags you have?"

"Yes, that's all. Here, let me carry the others." She picked up another one he had neglected and began to follow her younger brother out of the station. Unbeknownst to her, her bag started to open in the back and out slipped all her clothing, including her underwear.

"Sir?" one of the crewmen said to the director. "Are you getting a nosebleed?"

"Of course not!" he shouted, trying to scramble for tissues to cover his face. Images of lacy lingerie raced around his head, only worsening the situation.

~~

[Scene: Keladry's old room]

When they got upstairs to her room, Keladry extracted the wedding pictures from her bags and flipped through them for the photo. She vaguely acknowledged that she was in her old room. Not one item in the whole place had been moved. There was no dust, either. Perhaps they still cleaned it. She ought to thank them later.

Finally, she found the picture. Keladry held it up for them to see. Both women gaped at the photograph. They turned to each other and simultaneously squealed:

"What a babe!"

Keladry blinked. "Uh…"

"Oh, Kel! It's not fair!" her sisters whined.

"Look at that _butt_!"

Keladry's eyes widened. "What?"

"And that hair…"

"Those _eyes_!"

"What lips!"

"Does he have a brother?"

"I get first dibs, then!"

"Yeah right!"

Keladry sighed and decided she had better remain silent.

Both older sisters started to giggle uncontrollably. They whispered to each other. "Isn't it obvious to see how _big_ he is?"

Keladry eyes widened right before she fell off the bed.

~~

[Scene: outside in Keladry's old neighborhood]

"I was making a fool of myself and I didn't even know it," Keladry murmured aloud. She stopped and looked at Bud, whose nose was currently pressed against the damp, cold ground. "What do you think?"

The dog snorted and continued leading her forward on the sidewalk. They had been circling the neighborhood for a few minutes. The sun was still high, letting its warmth to deflect some of the cold just enough for them to remain outside a little longer than normal. 

She halted when she suddenly felt that she was stepping into something soft and mushy. Her nose twitched. Keladry almost didn't look down, but she did. 

"_Ew! Dog crap! Ew, get it off!_" she screamed, lifting one foot in the air and hopping around on her other foot. Bud merely yawned and settled onto the sidewalk for what was sure to be an intense scolding from his trainers.

~~

_Episode 5: Royalty _

[Scene: Eastern Yamanis] 

A young woman, obviously of Eastern Yamani descent, was crouched on top of a crag, dressed in dried leather skins and furs. Her dark, slanted eyes bore into Neal, driving icicles into him as he continued to gaze on. Long dark hair, some in thin braids, flew about her head, tossed about by the wind. 

"Um, hello!" Neal called out nervously. If it had been any other person, an idea would have formed to find out the stranger's name and quite possibly the reason for her eerie sentinel.

Neal, being simply…_Neal_, took one look at her full lips and blurted out, "You're gorgeous. Want to get a bite to eat?"

"Eat?" she mimicked. The woman cocked her head sideways at his words. 

He nodded. "Yeah. You know, to partake of a morsel of food and consume it, preferably with another person with you. Getting a bite to eat." Out of instinct, he offered her his most charming and non-threatening face. "So?"

Her beauty astounded him. No, it was more than that. The way she simply remained there, tense like a cat about to pounce. The coal colored eyes shone with black fire. She was as wild and free as the eagle that flew ahead. Her aura radiated of something fierce, but there was a hint of benevolence in the way she poised her knuckles on the rock. 

"You are strange," she said in a resonating, clear voice. It was both demure and forceful. He had no doubt in his mind that she could elevate her whisper to a war cry. And as confused as she was, the feeling did not reach her eyes. It was as if she were jotting down an observation for a scientific study on a breed of man. Not that he minded being studied.

It finally occurred to him what he ought to ask. "Um, I'm Neal. What's your name?"

She narrowed her eyes at him before jumping backwards from her crag and disappearing down the side of the mountain. Neal put down his pack. He ran awkwardly through the thick snow and clambered onto the crag (with a great deal of heaves, grunts, and 'oofs'). Then the officer looked down but found that he could see nothing but mountainside.

Suddenly, the crag on which he was sprawled upon started sliding down the mountain. Neal yelped as he found himself on a rocky sled going headfirst down the snow. 

From a few feet away, the director and the rest of the crew watched in morbid fascination as Neal went further and further away down the on-location film site. When the poor actor was almost a black speck to the human eye, he turned to his assistant.

"Next time, tell them to anchor the rock down." He paused and slapped his forehead. "Oh, and uh, I guess someone should go help him." He dismissed the assistant with a bored wave of his hand and proceeded to drink his coffee.

From below, Neal screamed. "Can't we use the bunny slopes?!"

~~

[Scene: Joren and Neal's camp on the mountain] 

"Is something troubling you, Sir? You seem distracted."

"Oh it's nothing. Just this… girl, I guess you could say."

The porter's eyebrows rose. "Oh. One of those things." He paused and bowed slightly. "I'm sure you'll find a beautiful woman with wonderful assets, worthy of marrying you and bearing you many strong children. Goddess, bless the thought."

Neal became flustered. He was still trying to get past the word _assets_. "Me? Marry? Oh, no, I'm a committed bachelor. I'm fine as is."

"So you DJPF men just like getting your kicks and leaving, yes?" the porter slyly asked.

"You're damn right we do!" Joren barked from several feet away. He glared daggers at Neal before ducking into his tent. The light inside it blinked off a few seconds later.

Neal turned toward the porter and blinked. "Well, you heard the man."

"CUT!" the director yelled, flinging his coffee to the ground in a temper tantrum.

~~

[Scene: the camp after the wolf attack and Joren's dream sequence] 

Joren sat up in cold sweat, a tortured cry pouring out from his hoarse throat. He reached for the bloody bandage wound around his head and tore it off. Almost like a feral animal, he threw the blankets off of him and stumbled to his feet. His breathing was harsh and labored. There wasn't enough air to take in. Joren was dimly aware of the biting cold. The clothing that he wore wasn't thick enough to protect against it. Instead of reaching for the blankets again, he boldly went forward.

He managed to reach the edge of the tent. There, he collapsed to his knees and looked out on the wilderness around him.  There was no color, no sunshine. No grass, no life. It was still. So still, like death.

It was too much for his fevered mind. He gripped fistfuls of hair and screamed.

"_Stella!_"

Neal nodded knowingly to the closest person. "I knew he was going to do that. It's just too tempting. The script was just _begging_ for it."

"_Sssttteeelllllaaa!"_

~~

Episode 6: Follow You Down 

[Scene: Dom's apartment] 

The silence became unbearably oppressive. Dom picked up a covered plate and walked toward Cleon. He handed him the plate. "Here's dinner. You might have to reheat it again. We didn't know if you were going to be eating with us or not, so we put out a plate for you anyway."

The other man instantly brightened. He grinned widely and accepted the plate. "Free food? No complaints here." He took a peek under the wrap. "Ew… what is that? Fungus?!"

"Those mushrooms were specifically _grown for eating, Cleon."_

"Oh. D'uh, I knew that. I was just testing you."

"Whatever you say."

Keladry interrupted their casual exchange. "Anyway, thanks for dinner, Dom. You need to write down the recipe for me sometime so I can learn how to cook."

Dom followed her to the door, laughing. "Why bother? Joren can teach you how to cook. His Chicken Marsala is better than mine."

Keladry and Cleon froze in their tracks. They turned to the Rider, mouths gaping and quite flabbergasted. Keladry finally found the voice to speak. "Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah," he assured. "It's like… _Bam_! Emeril, or something, you know? You should see all of us bachelors from the Rider's Own battle it out for the title of _Iron Chef_."

"…Iron… Chef," Keladry frowned.

Cleon held up his hands. "Okay, okay, stop it.  I'm getting hungry." He walked off the set and picked up his jacket and car keys. "Does anyone want anything? I'm going for takeout!"

A hundred people began yelling out random orders for Peking duck and Wonton soup. 

~~ 

[Scene: Keladry's apartment] 

Keladry prepared for bed. Cleon must have felt incredibly guilty after leaving her with Dom. He had already taken most of her belongings from her bags and placed them in neat stacks on her dresser. The exception was her undergarments, knowing that just touching them warranted death. 

Yawning, the pajama-clad young woman sat down in front of her computer terminal and checked for any messages. She wished desperately to simply hear from Joren. Even if it meant getting an earful of curses and swears, she wouldn't mind. At least she would know that he was still living and breathing.

"Does he think about me?" she wondered out loud. A blush rose to her cheeks. She scolded herself for being so mushy and got up from her chair.

After three steps, she turned around and sat back down again. Her fingers deftly typed out a word into the search engine of her Internet service provider. She waited impatiently for the list of results to appear.

Keladry stared.

"So that's what he meant by _meatloaf_…"

She turned a bright shade of red and stifled a nosebleed.

~~

Episode 7: Vows 

[Scene: Roald and Lalasa's apartment] 

Roald walked out of the master bedroom, fixing a deep red tie around his neck. His blue trousers were freshly ironed and his pinstriped shirt was buttoned up, the cufflinks even in place. Lalasa cast a speculative eye on her husband. "And where are you going? I thought we still had the day off."

He approached her, flashing a charming smile, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "A councilman from Tortall is going to arrive before lunch. I'm his guide for the duration of his stay."

"Oh? Promoted from chauffeur, then?"

He shrugged. "Apparently." He noted her frown. "Why are you complaining? I'm going to get a raise and _you_ will get your shopping spree."

Was she that predictable? Lalasa stood up and began adjusting his necktie for him. She scattered small butterfly kisses on his face and neck as she did so. The sound of his chuckles in her ear tempted her to nip at his own ear.

"Hey! Hey, don't start that _now_, or I might have to call in sick." He scolded her, winking in a most promising way.

She blinked, frowning naively. "Oh? Are you feeling feverish?"

"Feverish for you," he replied, thinking perhaps she was improvising lines to add flavor.

Lalasa pulled back and admonished him. "Well then! I'd better make you some tea. Better yet, some chicken soup!"

He tried pulling her toward him, but she batted his hands away. "Stay your distance, oh dear husband!" She struck a valiant pose. "We can't both get sick! Maybe you should get a flu shot, yes? Lie on the couch, this instant!"

Roald stared at her, wide-eyed. "You've got to be kidding me."

In the background, one lighting technician said to another, "Looks like his nookie went out the window."

"Yeah. I heard she's been doing this since season 1, trying to avoid touching him. Something about liking another actor that got killed off. To top that off, I heard the R-man kisses like a fish."

"Hey!" Roald yelled. "I heard that!"

~~

[Scene: Roald and Lalasa's housewarming party] 

As Kalasin spoke, Dom attempted to recall himself feeling _that_ optimistic. To his dismay, he did not find a single time in his life when he had been. There had always been the nagging doubt that the work he did, his civilian services to the country, would not amount to anything at all. The law was broken every day. Evildoers escaped justice every single day. The Riders' Own couldn't stop them all.

Cleon did live like there was always hope. He was the embodiment of all those wishful things. Dom was actually quite jealous. The only way he could ever be as happy was if he took medical supplements meant for depression patients.

"So. That's why you like him," he murmured, taking a long sip of his drink.

 "Yes. That… and he does wonders for the twins." With that, she cupped her breasts.

Everyone on the set turned to see Neal jumping from his seat, pounding his hand on his chest. He was choking, because he'd expected one line from another and had accidentally swallowed his drink rather than spitting it out. The director cradled his head in his hands and cried. It took several moments before Kalasin decided to karate chop him on the back, causing him to spit out his beverage.

"Read my lips!" the director yelled. "No more improvising!"

~~

[Scene: Trading post in the Eastern Yamanis] 

"Just tell me who paged you," Keladry urged. She could tell he was nervous by the way he shifted from foot to foot. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. His green eyes darted around the dimly lit room. Cleon walked over to her nightstand and lit a small stubby white candle. He cupped his hands gently around the flame for warmth. "Um, I got a page from Neal."

Her heart skipped a beat. She put a hand on his trembling shoulder. Excitement took over her. She couldn't even see through the smoky haze it created and grinned from ear to ear. Cleon remained reserved in expression.

"Really? Cleon, do you know what that means?"

"I know what it would first imply."

She shook her head. "What are you talking about? Come on, tell me what Neal and Joren said."

Cleon cleared his throat and read the pager. "_Want a good time? Phone sex live, $5.95 for the first minute and $.99 for each additional minute. 1-800-555-9999._"

Keladry cringed. "Cleon, are you sure that's the right pager?"

"Of course it—" he stopped when he felt another pager in his pocket. "Oops." He smiled apologetically toward the camera. "Wrong prop."

~~

Episode 8: Pure 

[Scene: Neal and Joren's camp in the Eastern Yamanis] 

He assured the crew and the guide, Imrah, that there was no need to turn back. They restlessly waited for Joren to awake. And luckily, that morning, as Neal was keeping watch over his partner, Joren opened his eyes.

The pupils surrounded by pale blue shrank in response to the light filtering through the tent material. He screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away. One hand stiffly pressed itself against the sleeping bag, pushing Joren up into a sitting position. The other hand swiftly flew to his head, touching the new white bandage wound around his "bump".

Despite having gained full consciousness in a matter of seconds, he looked down at his body straight away as if he couldn't differentiate the blur of colors in his vision. He kicked furiously at the sleeping bag, trying to free his legs. His face lifted again so that he faced Neal with a menacing expression. "Why are my feet and knees wet?"

Neal lifted his head warily and yawned. The early morning sun was also too bright for his eyes. He rubbed his eyelids and pointed to the tent opening. "You…" His mind searched for the right line. "Uh, wet yourself?"

Joren brandished a fist. "Come over here and let's see if you don't wet _your_self!"

~~

[Scene: Neal and Joren's camp in the Eastern Yamanis] 

_And to think, I thought he would be mad for tackling him and nearly killing him…_

"What about your face? Does that hurt?" Joren asked.

Neal frowned slightly. "Um, no. Perfectly fine."

"Good."

And with that, Joren drew back his arm and exploded forward, punching Neal soundly across the cheekbone so much that the struck man was propelled backwards. He landed on his butt in the snow. He groaned in obvious pain.

"Cut!" the director yelled. "That wasn't right. Let's do it again!"

_Take 2: Neal and Joren's camp in the Eastern Yamanis_

_And to think, I thought he would be mad for tackling him and nearly killing him…_

"What about your face? Does that hurt?" Joren asked.

Neal frowned slightly. "Um, no. Perfectly fine."

"Good."

And with that, Joren drew back his arm and exploded forward, punching Neal soundly across the cheekbone so much that the struck man was propelled backwards. He spun around midair and landed on facedown, moaning into the snowdrift.

"CUT!" the director shouted. He snapped his fingers. "Still not right. Let's do this _right_ people!"

_…_

_Take 24: Neal and Joren's camp in the Eastern Yamanis_

_And to think, I thought he would be mad for tackling him and nearly killing him…_

"What about your face? Does that hurt?" Joren asked.

Neal frowned slightly. "Um, no. Perfectly fine."

"Good."

And with that, Joren drew back his arm and exploded forward, punching Neal soundly across the cheekbone so much that the struck man was propelled backwards. He landed on his butt in the snow, head reeling. He pressed a gloved hand to his cheek and winced in obvious pain. 

"CUT!"

Joren rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"Oh, nothing," the director said. "I just wanted the camera to cut away. That was fine. Moving on to the next part of the scene! Neal, I want you to turn slightly so the camera will get a better profile of you."

There was no response. Neal was lying on the ground, eyes closed. Joren nudged him with his foot. The towheaded man shrugged. "I think we overdid it."

The director sighed. "Hmm. Okay. _Get the stunt double!_"

~~

[Scene: Eastern Yamani Mountains]

"Just listen," the guide hushed. He began swirling one hand in the air again, beckoning the words to rise up out of his chest. "The Yamani people are an older people than many think. Their ancestors were willful. They climbed every mountain they saw as if it were merely a mound one would step over. They did not like the idea of obstacles that they could not pass.

"Once, long ago, a brave man climbed many mountains and crossed this wilderness, until he reached the largest of them all, Enishijirou." Here Imrah paused, as if to give silent reverence to the name. Joren chose to mask his contempt for the name. It was not something he wanted to be reminded of. The guide continued. "The brave man climbed this great mountain. Surely he would have died if the Goddess had not taken pity on him. She had scattered grass sanctuaries across the mountains, where the goats and the rams and the sheep would graze. He would live off these places as She wished. 

"And so She favored him that he might see what no outsider had seen in hundreds of years."

Imrah turned to face his audience. To his dismay, Joren's eyes were closed and his head was tilted toward his chest.

"Ahem!"

Joren snapped to attention, discreetly wiping the drool at the corner of his mouth.

"CUT!"

"Hey," the blond protested. "It's not my fault this guy is so boring!"

~~

[Scene: Eastern Yamani Mountains]

Joren did as he was ordered and gasped. Forgetting that he was still angry with Neal—as people are apt to be when nearly falling to their deaths—he shouted down to his partner. The older officer groaned, not understanding a thing the blonde was saying.

"Quiet, Stone!" he hissed loudly, obviously having not forgotten _his_ annoyance. "Do you want to cause an avalanche?"

A raised middle finger was his immediate answer.

"Just get your pansy ass up here, NEALAN!" Joren ground out the last word mockingly. He impatiently beckoned for him to pass the others. Neal muttered a curse to himself. He blurted out pardons as he made his way up to the spot. The other men and women gave him a helping hand on his way up. 

When he was finally pushed forward to the top, he took a deep breath and held his arms out in a show of bravado. "Okay, okay. Pansy ass is here! Now what's so impor—" His mouth dropped open. He whistled. "Well… fuck me…"

"Okay."

Neal turned and glared at him. "You're not funny."

"Who said I was trying to be funny?" Joren replied with an innocent look.

The blond was rewarded when Neal let out a girlish shriek and leapt back several feet. Having done this, he lost his footing and began tumbling down the slope again, knocking down other cast members in the process. The director glared at Joren furiously.

"This is coming out of your paycheck, Stone. As… funny as that was…"

Joren smirked. "Ah. So it was good for you, too?"

From somewhere down below, Neal screamed bloody murder.

~~

[Scene: new camp outside the plane]

"What is it?" Joren asked impassively, staring at a point above the flames.

Neal shrugged. "I thought it might be a good idea to contact the others and tell them how our search is going. We haven't communicated with them in a while, like we should have."

"Go ahead, then," he replied, barely concerned. If Neal had asked him if it was okay to do a crazy naked dance around the fire, Joren probably wouldn't have noticed and still given his consent. Wondering if this was true, Neal spoke it aloud.

"Whatever. Fine with me." He paused. "I wonder if doing that will cause frostbite on the—"

"_Forget I said anything!_" Neal shouted, turning beet red.

~~

Episode 9: Misunderstanding 

[Scene: Inn at trading post in the Eastern Yamanis]

From out of nowhere, a perpetual cry of panic began. Faleron frowned and turned his head—

—just as Cleon leapt from out of nowhere and slid to a stop at Faleron's side. He hugged his friend's knees, reduced to rambling frantically about a large scary man wanting him to marry his daughter.

"You've got to help me! I don't know what to do!"

"What in blazes are you talking about?" Faleron complained. He could feel the glares of his fellow poker players burn into him. He tried to pry the redhead's hold from his legs as it was starting to conflict with circulation.

A few moments later, the large lumberjack of a man and his daughter were standing in front of the two hapless Mithrans. Cleon whimpered and clung even tighter to his lifeline.

"Where this wife you speak of?"

"Wife? Cleon, you're not—" Faleron began.

"Shh!" Cleon hissed. "Don't!"

The daughter, a little slow on the uptake and not too familiar with the language, pouted and poked Faleron in the shoulder. "You wife?"

"Yes! Genius idea!" the sharpshooter exclaimed and immediately climbed into Faleron's lap, much to the former thief's disgust. The other poker players made sounds of disapproval and spat on the floor, picking up whatever money they had left and leaving the table. Cleon grinned. "Hey! Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Faleron burst out laughing immediately and dropped Cleon on the floor.

~~

[Scene: Inn at trading post in Eastern Yamanis]

"Of course I wouldn't, stupid. Now, let's talk to this fatherly chap and see if we can reach an understanding." He addressed the man again. "Sir, you can't just go around selling your daughter to an absolute stranger—whoa. That's a lot of money."

When the man had finished digging through his pockets, he opened his hands to reveal sparkling nuggets of gold. Faleron stood up, promptly dropping his friend to the floor with a painful thud. He leaned forward, his dexterous fingers itching to touch the little miracles in the man's cupped hands.

"Fal?"

"Changed my mind. Sorry, my good man. I'm selling you," Faleron murmured, staring at the gold.

The father appeared triumphant. "Migration Department not let family move on our own, so we marry oldest daughter off to foreigner! You take money for this man?"

The former thief grinned, the widest grin that Cleon had ever seen on his face. "You got it!  Cleon's all yours. I'll go get you his passports and his travel visas right now, sir!" He paused. "Bonus offer! For another nugget of gold, I'll give you handcuffs, a leopard print gag and blindfold, and a leather whip." He smacked Cleon rudely on the behind. "Need to keep the chap in line, don't we?"

"I hate you," Cleon ground out through clenched teeth as everyone else on the set began snickering.

~~

[Scene: Inn at trading post in Eastern Yamanis]

Keladry rolled up the map that Higgins had given to her, after having to listen to a few of his army anecdotes and having to sip from a glass of wine for a near half hour. She placed the map on the inside of her jacket for safekeeping. Hopefully, Imrah had stuck to his plans. She would be able to find Joren and Neal now. Hopefully.

She glanced over her shoulder at the guard that offered to escort her to the inn. She couldn't make sense of a Bazhir being so far from home, but she didn't want to seem nosy. The guard had turned out to be even more useful than the absentminded trade master. She was very grateful to him, although she couldn't express it.

As they entered the inn, Keladry became astonished at the number of people crowded around the center, hooting and hollering as if they were watching a cockfight. The thought of roosters being illegally bred and forced to fight each other seemed somewhat ridiculous to Keladry, as did the idea of two Pit bulls fighting it out in some inn in the mountains. She shouted to the bartender.

"What's going on?"

Waiting a few moments, she figured that she would have to go to them instead of them going to her. Wondering why they'd missed their cue, she shoved past the hooting spectators and peered into the cleared space they surrounded. She glared at the two men still wrestling and cleared her throat.

Cleon and Faleron looked up. They both winced when they saw her. Faleron immediately stood up and held out a hand to help Cleon up. Then the redhead took three steps before leaping into Keladry's arms. Just as he was about to start his panicked monologue, Keladry teetered backward. The two fell back onto the floor.

"Ouch! Get off, you weigh a ton!" she cried.

"You're calling me _fat_?" he yelled indignantly.

The director's left eye began to twitch. "Someone, get me a strong cup of coffee! I see we'll have to redo this scene a few dozen times before we get it right…"

~~

[Scene: same… yadda yadda…]

The Bazhir guard, although not fluent in the Common language, happened to be very adept at the Eastern Yamani dialect. He took the father aside and began conversing with him quietly. When he had just about received a full summary of the day's events, he turned to Keladry with a polite bow and explained.

She grasped the situation, trying to remain as calm as possible. _I'm gone for less than an hour and look what happens!_ Keladry instantly turned her head to glare at Faleron, who only shrugged and began to inspect his hands to see if they had obtained any damage from the small fistfight from a few minutes ago. She kicked at Cleon to cause the former shell of a man to let go and huddle behind the Bazhir. 

"I tell him that Shizuru have better luck finding husband elsewhere," the guard told Keladry. He pointed at Cleon. "I tell him that this fire-headed one is impotent."

There was only a second of silence before she doubled over, her mouth wide open in laughter and tears springing from her eyes.

~~

Episode 10: Enter the Mist… 

[Scene: The mountains…]

Joren and Imrah eyed the spectacle above with mistrust. The officer growled and reached for his weapon. "_Nealan_," he ground out through clenched teeth, savoring the effect that the disliked name had on his partner. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Neal was indignant that such a bad reaction would come from his success and glared at Joren. "I happen to be getting help! Face it, Stone! We don't know where our missing people could be and she—"

His reply was cut off prematurely when his foot missed a step. As he tottered on the steep face of the mountain, he waved his arms frantically and muttered, "Oh shit."

Below, Joren looked up at his flailing partner and sighed with a weary acceptance. "Oh shit."

…The last words that were heard before Neal tripped and began tumbling down. Joren and Imrah, too weighed down by their packs, were unable to move out of their way. The plummeting man struck both of his comrades and soon, all three were sliding down the snow and screaming bloody murder. They desperately tried to stop themselves by reaching out and grasping anything that their hands could reach. Unfortunately, the weight of their packs and the smooth texture of their parkas and jackets made it nearly impossible. Even Joren began to curse the uselessness of the shoes he had bought specially for the purpose of its rough, spiked bottom.

"CUT! Good scene everyone! Let's move on!"

"Sir!" one of the stuntmen interrupted. "We can't seem to stop them. They keep rolling and rolling down the mountain!"

The director turned and looked. Indeed, his three actors were. He turned to the stuntman and shrugged. "Well, who needs them? With technology these days, I'm sure we can come up with some sort of computer graphic stand in. Let's get to it, people! Now!"

"Uh… okay…"

~~

[Scene: Entering the First Gate….]

"Someone cover his eyes," Shinkokami commanded.

Joren backed away from the group. "Wait a second. I'm not going to be blindfolded."

She sneered. "You, _foreigner_, are not permitted to see how the doors open." 

She issued an order to one of Joren's former litter bearers to wrap his scarf around Joren's eyes. The officer hated that he had no choice to submit. Neal and Imrah were still unconscious, so Joren couldn't put them at risk with a clear conscience.

His hand was placed on the back of the man who blindfolded him. He tensely waited, trying to pick up any sound at all. After a few moments, there was a scraping sound. He assumed that it was the bottom of the doors moving against the floor. Then, they began to advance. Joren followed awkwardly. He had the strangest feeling he was going to walk into a wall. 

"OW!"

"Sorry. Should have moved you away from wall. Won't happen again," his guide responded.

A few seconds later…

"OW! For crying out loud—"

"Oops. So sorry again. You see, I'm legally blind, too."

Joren rubbed his smarting head and muttered obscenities under his breath.

~~

[Scene: First District of Enishijirou]

Neal was indeed showing more signs of life. He moved his arms about as if trying to ward off invisible tormentors. Joren laid a hand on the taller man's shoulder. Neal woke up with a start, breathing in sharply and opening his eyes wide.

"Oh! I have the biggest headache," he moaned, cradling his head in both hands while sitting up. He screwed his eyes shut again and hissed in pain.

The old woman chuckled and tilted Neal's head back, placing a few red leaves on top of his tongue.

"Wah! Wha iz tha?" he sputtered. The woman held a hand over Neal's mouth, forcing him not to spit it out. "Oh ma Ga! Thith ith duhwugth, ithn ih?!"

"No, Queenscove, they're not drugs," Joren sighed. He looked at the old woman. "Are they?"

She cackled.

~~

[Scene: Second District of Enishijirou]

They stepped down onto the fourth platform. The technician pulled a lever that stuck out from the platform. A single car rolled down the tracks and came to a stop. It resembled Cinderella's carriage rather than any sort of subway or train. It was light blue with tiny silver vines surrounding the entire exterior. Even a driver was included. Behind the pumpkin shaped carriage was a red-cushioned bench that seated a man dressed in the same orange tunic as the technician. 

"Good evening, milady. Pleasant wishes for you all," the driver greeted. He was of the same ethnicity of Lady Haname, which only confused the two DJPF officers even more. A city that was supposed to have been isolated from foreigners for centuries, perhaps even millennia, happened to house many who were not of the original culture. 

"Have a nice night," the technician said as he opened the small half-door to the carriage. 

Lady Haname nodded to him and gracefully entered the carriage. She sat down on a seat of satin pillows and leaned back against the similarly cushioned walls of the carriage. Neal and Joren got in after her and sat on the opposite seat. Though they were loath to sit next to each other, there was a silent agreement between them that there was something about Lady Haname's elegance and, indeed, the whole City's classiness that made them suspicious.

Joren opened his mouth to speak, but the carriage came to a crashing halt. The three occupants were flung from their seats.

"Sorry!" the driver yelled from outside. The carriage started up again.

The blond continued where he left off. "Are there m—whoa!"

The car halted abruptly again. Neal and Joren were sent to the floor of the carriage once more.

"Whoopsies!" the driver shouted.

Joren growled while drumming his fingers on the floor.

~~

[Scene: Lady Haname's house]

Joren walked around the beds to the bathroom and touched the door. It opened automatically, with a tiny burst of blue light. The light inside the bathroom automatically illuminated, via glowing crystals in the ceiling. The sink, bathtub, and indeed, the _toilet_ were all made of same green marble that made up the dresser.

"Not all that practical. If this stuff chips, its hard to replace." He paused. "Then again, they have millions of things here that aren't practical and seemingly impossible. Why _not_ a marble toilet?"

Neal laughed. "Is it sensor-automatic? Or crystal activated?"

Joren moved in front of the toilet and moved away again. The water inside began to swirl around. "Does that answer your question?" He exited the bathroom. The lights turned off and the door closed by itself behind him. "Let's just change and go to bed. I have to figure out a few things."

The toilet flushed again in the background.

"What's there to figure out? We don't know enough and it's not like it'll help us. These people don't want to hurt us. It's like Shinko said. They'll help us, then throw us out."

Another flush.

"Not before they either brainwash us or wipe our memories clean. Don't you see? All the people in this City are annoyingly perfect. They're all happy with whatever job they have—"

_Flush…_

"Okay! Will someone just turn that thing _off_?!" Neal yelled.

~~

Episode 11: Hotshot 

[Scene: the Palace]

Enishi sipped strained orange juice from a crystal champagne glass. He gestured toward Neal. "Is he always like this?"

"I think in the absence of Kennan, he feels obligated to fill the role," Joren said disdainfully. He began eating as well, although he took his time and decided to talk frequently between bites. "So. The white hair runs in the family I suppose?"

"He's my nephew. You have nothing to envy. Yahiko will inherit my throne since his parents are dead, but until then, he will be rebellious and ill tempered." He chuckled. "Actually, the boy reminds me of you."

"Yes," Joren agreed sarcastically. "Because I have tantrums and love bleaching my hair white." He chewed and swallowed a piece of fluffy scrambled eggs. "Seriously. What the hell are you doing here? And what's with that Shinkokami girl and the existence of the City? Because if you tell me it's all magic, I'm going to hurt you."

The white-haired man shrugged. "You have no sense of fantasy and enchantment."

"I hate fairy tales."

"Such a shame, then. You're in one." Enishi put down his glass.

There was a long silence after this. Joren kicked Neal under the table.

"Wha?" Neal said, his mouth full of food.

"Your line," Joren prompted.

"Gimme a sec," Neal said, continuing to shovel his face full of the heaven-sent breakfast.

"CUT!" the director yelled. "Someone replace that plate with the plastic food!"

"Hey!" the actor protested.

~~

[Scene: The Palace]

Joren balled his hands into fists. "You still have a lot to answer for."

Enishi smiled. "I'm sure I do. But not today." 

He nodded his head toward them and descended down the staircase. The two officers watched him until he had walked the length of the entire ballroom and exited out the front doors. Neal sighed and dug around his pocket. He held out his hand to his partner, shrugging. 

"Want a mint?" He paused. "Because honestly, your breath stinks—OUCH! Okay, okay, mouth shutting now…"

~~

[Scene: The mountains]

And so, they bid goodbye to the returning search party and continued on their own. Faleron had voiced his complaints quite freely in the beginning before he noticed what sort of effect they had on Keladry. She was growing more despondent with each day. Even Cleon was having a difficult time keeping all their spirits up.

After a few days, Keladry called for a rest. The three friends sat down on a part of the slope that leveled out due to some rocks. Faleron handed out bits of food and thermoses of heated water. They ate their lunch quietly, not really having anything in mind to talk about.

"Tofu," Cleon said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Faleron creased his brow with a look of bewilderment. "What?"

"I was thinking. I'd really like some tofu just now," the redhead spoke.

"Don't you want a cheeseburger?" his friend hinted, wiggling his eyebrows.

Cleon pouted. "Why? There's so much _grease._"

Faleron slapped his forehead. "I give up."

"CUT! KENNAN!"

The sharpshooter scoffed. "If you want to promote unhealthy food habits, fine!  But I won't play a part in it!"

"Did someone brainwash him?" Keladry asked loudly.

~~

Episode 12: Long Live the King 

[Scene: Palace garden] 

"What about the lifespan of these people? Is it just the royal family, or does it apply to everyone here?"

"Something's in the water," Joren mused, a smirk threatening to appear on his face.

His partner cracked a smile. "I probably wouldn't enjoy it anyway. Look at Yahiko. He's been a kid for at least forty years. I wouldn't be able to _stand_ being on the verge of puberty that long. I'd probably have apoplectic fits."

After that, they remained quiet for several minutes. The darkness in the sky was beginning to recede. Underground, the crystals would slowly come to life again one by one. A new day was beginning and the City would become a vibrant, bustling collection of wonders once again.

Joren stretched out both of his legs before jumping off the arch and landing in a crouch on the ground. He raised his arm over his head and caught the sword and scabbard that Neal tossed down to him. Securing it to his belt again, he also waited for Neal to jump down from the wall and land beside him. 

A few moments passed.

"Are you coming down or not?" Joren yelled impatiently.

"It's a pretty high jump," Neal commented fearfully.

He was greeted with a blank stare. "You, wuss. It's not even six feet."

"Still!"

Neal was suddenly knocked backwards off the wall by the sheathed sword that Joren threw at him. The poor man let out a cry of surprise and landed with an 'oof' on the other side of the garden wall. Joren tossed the exasperated director a smug look.

"Do I win a prize?"

~~

[Scene: Black City dungeon] 

Keladry tested the doorknob, which was surprisingly western in style. There was even an oval shaped hole for a key underneath. She turned to Faleron. "It's locked. Can you pick it?"

By the look on his face, she knew that it was not something the he liked being asked of him. Since the incident and Galla and his reformed life working for Daine, Faleron had not preferred to use any of his old skills. Even little favors asked by his friends brought on a tinge of pain somewhere deep inside. He hid it well, most of the time, but every now and then he slipped, showing how he truly felt about the subject.

Keladry began examining the keyhole herself. "It's all right if you don't want to. I can try—"

"No," Faleron interrupted instantly. "No, I'll do it. It's fine." He knelt down in front of keyhole and studied it. He patted his sides. "I don't have any tools, though." He eyed her glaive. "That thing slices through metal like a hot knife and butter, right?"

She shrugged. "If I adjust it to do so."

"Can you minimize the flare into a fine thin flame?" 

"Sure—"

"Hey, do you like big flames?" he asked her suddenly.

Keladry frowned. This hadn't been in the script. "Sure I do."

"Because you know what they say about big flames—"

"CUT!" the director shouted. "Stick to your lines, King, or I'll stick that flaming pole up where the sun doesn't shine, got it?"

Faleron rolled his eyes. "No one has an appreciation for the art of improvisation anymore."

"I really think he just doesn't have an appreciation for _you_," Keladry replied.

~~

[Scene: Black City Castle] 

They were in a large throne room. A metal chandelier holding dozens of flickering white candles hung from a chain attached to a metal loop in the ceiling. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting knights and kings fighting evil monsters. The high windows were simply adorned with dusty velvet curtains. According to the color of the sky, it must have been nighttime. Minstrels dressed in dark brown colors stood off to the side, playing their lutes and pipes. On the opposite side, several stern looking men in dark robes and cloaks were reading silently to themselves from scrolls and parchments. One held a large scythe as if he meant to cut their heads from their bodies as easily as he could cut and gather wheat.

It was the sight directly in front of them, however, that caused Keladry and Faleron to wonder what the hell was going on.

Cleon immediately sat up from where he had been cattily laying across a large throne encrusted with gold and rubies. Four women in mostly revealing dresses made of sheer scarves and white satin had been feeding grapes to him while… _singing?_

"I'm a… sssllllave… for you. I cannot hold it. I cannot control it.  
I'm a… sssllllave for you. I won't deny it. I'm not trying to hide it." 

The redhead smiled and wiggled his eyebrows mischievously at his friends. "Life's grand, isn't it?"

They gaped at him with mixtures of shock, jealousy, and repulsion.

~~

[Scene: Just outside the Black City]

The wolves leapt down onto a ledge. It took the stern commands of their riders to keep them from howling at the full moon in the sky. After a week's worth of hard traveling, the beasts wanted very much to hunt down a mountain goat or even a small lamb to tear apart. Their riders calmed them and offered them raw chunks of birds that they had shot down during the day. Borealize dismissed them. He would summon them again with a high-pitched whistle when they were ready to depart again.

One of the riders walked up to the end of the ledge and knelt down, casting his gaze upon the dark city that greeted them. Strands of his silver white hair wafted in the breeze from under his hood. Another man crouched beside him, having put on a dark hood over his head as well. 

"Selirithel, what do you see with those eyes of yours?" Liam whispered.

Coal black eyes widened. The five other comrades felt a strange pulse coming from the dark robed figure. They moved away naturally, watching him from a distance. The silver haired man held out a pale long fingered hand spread out in front of him. He hissed deep in his throat. Then, he withdrew his hand and hid it in his long sleeve. "Six vessels wearing Victoria's Secret panties and three wearing none at all."

"Nine," Neal murmured to Joren a few feet behind. "We're only after six—hey! Wait a second, what did you say?!"

"Ahem," the wizard coughed. "I said nine! Nine vessels without tainted blood dwell below."

They could barely hear him snigger.

~~

Episode 13: Good Cookin'! 

[Scene: Captain Flyndon's office]

Raoul stared long and hard at the Rider before him. He glanced at Flyndon, who was seated behind his desk trying to remain indifferent. Then he looked again at Dom, as if the man had grown an extra head. Finally, he propped his chin up on his hand and gave his younger comrade a genuinely pensive look.

"I had no idea that today was St. Patrick's Day."

"CUT! The line is _I had no idea that today was April Fools!_ Get it right!" the director commanded.

_Take 2: Captain Flyndon's office_

Raoul stared long and hard at the Rider before him. He glanced at Flyndon, who was seated behind his desk trying to remain indifferent. Then he looked again at Dom, as if the man had grown an extra head. Finally, he propped his chin up on his hand and gave his younger comrade a genuinely pensive look.

"I had no idea that today was President's Day."

Take 3: Captain Flyndon's office 

"I had no idea that today was Yom Kippur."

…Take 44: Captain Flyndon's office 

"I had no idea that today was Guy Falkes day."

The director started tearing his hair out. Flyn raised his hand discreetly.

"You know, we can just edit that out in the sound studio."

The director stopped pulling at his head and stared at him menacingly. "And you did not tell me that earlier—_why_?"

"Oh… uh…"

~~

[Scene: Lerant's apartment] 

Lerant had always been overqualified in many areas. Raoul had thought it such a shame that his talents had been overlooked by the DJPF simply because of a family disgrace. In reality, the young man had an extremely good eye for financial matters. That fact alone made him Raoul's new best friend. "Lerant! I need you to call every fancy restaurant in town and every banquet hall. Find one for this Saturday and book it. The President's coming to dinner."

It was true. But it was also blunt. And this was the fact that made Lerant suddenly sick in the stomach. He fought his agitation. "Yes, sir. Of course." He paused nervously. "Raoul, what's my budget for this… _project_?"

The Marshal shrugged as if it had been obvious. "Why, my salary of course."

"Ha!" Lerant suddenly burst. He slapped a hand over his mouth and cringed. "Oh, I mean. Of course, sir. Okay! So that will buy about a dozen buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken and maybe… Jell-o?"

Raoul's mouth dropped open. "Am I _that_ badly paid?"

Lerant chuckled. "Well, sir… honestly speaking…" he stopped laughing. "Yes."

~~

[Scene: Lerant's apartment, still]

"Where's the butter knife?"

"Placed in a horizontal fashion across the small bread plate, which will be above your forks."

Raoul shook his head. "It has to be horizontal?"

"I'll _kill_ anyone who places it at any different angle," Roald replied through clenched teeth, having been driven to the ends of his ropes with the Marshal's incessant questions. He made himself take another deep breath before pinching the bridge of his nose. He would need an entire bottle of aspirin to help him along the next few days.

He continued to instruct his unlikely student to look the busboys in the eye when they cleared his plate away, reciting "thank you" and so on. When Raoul used his cloth napkin to wipe his mouth, Roald quickly slapped his hand.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You do not wipe. You _dab_. Dab, dab, dab!" Here a slightly crazed look in his eyes made Raoul shy away from him. Roald suddenly screamed. "No!  You do not even know how to _dab_! Here! _This_ is how you _DAB_!"

"Mommy!" Raoul cried out helplessly, while jumping up from his chair and trying to run away from Roald, who was chasing him with a napkin.

~~

[Scene: kitchen]

Back in the kitchen, one of the cooks was waiting for his duck to cook while stirring the homemade sauce that was to go with it. He smiled happily to himself, thanking his good fortune that he would now have the distinguished honor of saying that he had once cooked for the President of Mithros. Now his normal boss, the head chef at a downtown restaurant, would be sorry that he had left him behind.

These cheering thoughts lingered on his mind as he looked up from the stove and came eye to eye with a long green snake hanging from the cupboards.

"Aaahhh!" He screamed. "Snake! Snake!" Overwhelmed with fear, he jumped backwards and fainted. His body slumped to the floor while the other cooks looked in his direction, saw the long limbless reptile, and also shrieked. Before anyone else could react, the two conscious cooks dropped what they were doing and ran out the door into the alley, screeching wildly into the night.

Seaver appeared at a third alternate door that led to the entry hall. He looked around the kitchen at the stunned faces of his fellow Riders. He finally spotted the snake and trotted over, calmly removing it from the cupboard and laying it across his shoulders.

"Hey, girl. I've been looking all over for you!"

"Seaver!" Yuki yelled. "What were you thinking, bringing that thing here?"

He shrugged. "I just got her. She's not used to the tank, so I wanted to bring her with me so she could get used to me. She's not poisonous or anything." He paused. "Oh, wait. This one _is_ the poisonous snake." He peered at it and called out to the set crew. "Hey! Props!"

Everyone else immediately squealed in terror and jumped up onto stools or counter tops for safety.

~~

[Scene: kitchen after Dom slips and falls] 

Seaver and Qasim dragged Dom carefully over to a chair. After propping him up in it, Seaver exhaled deeply. "Okay. There's only one thing to do."

"What?"

"Take his clothes off."

Seaver blinked. "I hate to tell you this, Qasim, but no one here shares your—"

"Not that, you perverted snake charmer! Are you snickering? Sir!" he yelled to the director. "He's snickering!"

Seaver tried to stifle his laughter. "He called me a snake charmer! Do you know what that m—"

"It means nothing, you pervert!" Yuki scolded. "You screwed up the scene and now Dom will have to fake his fall again!"

Dom groaned from the floor. "What? Aw, man. You guys are killing me!"

~~

_Episode 14: Prophecies_

[Scene: Black City castle]

Gradually, the other crewmembers began to wake up. Servants, both men and women this time, entered carrying trays of food and basins to wash with. After everyone had woken, fed, and dressed, a man in black trailing robes typical of the royal advisors entered the room. A cowl was pulled over his face. 

Keladry stood and approached him. "Sir?"

"Morning business is about to commence. Your presence is requested by His Majesty."

"You mean Cleon, right?"

The man rolled his eyes. "No, I mean Elvis."

The director groaned.

~~

[Scene: Cleon's royal bedchambers] 

The reluctant King of the Black City stopped his pacing and threw himself facedown onto the bed, burying his head under the pillows. He squirmed childishly and groaned once more. "What the hell do we know about dragons? They're not real! How can we tame one to fight for us and what the _hell_ is the Kingdom of Enishijirou?!"

Faleron, who had been ignoring most of his best friend's tantrum since the beginning, suddenly let out a murmur of appreciation as he found a very useful weapon. He fitted a metal helmet over his head. It also had a shaded visor that covered the eyes. Then he picked up a large metal cylinder with a crudely crafted mechanism on top. He pointed it at Maggur's vacated chair and pulled the trigger. A cold, thick fog sprayed out and covered the chair with white foam.

"Um. I think you grabbed the fire extinguisher by mistake," Cleon whispered.

"Gee, really?" Faleron replied sardonically.

~~

[Scene: Cleon's royal bedchambers… again] 

Cleon took off his fancier golden threaded clothing and traded it for tougher pads of leather and cowhide. He put up with the chain mail and the smaller pieces of armor very well, but he balked when they tried to lower the breastplate and shoulder pads onto him.

He swung about his limbs to get a feel for his limited range of motion. "Argh! I can't face a stupid dragon like this! You might as well hang me on a pole and make barbecue out of me."

"Taste like chicken!" Faleron managed to say before everyone burst into hysterical laughter. The director sat sullenly in his chair, drumming his fingers on the arm rest.

~~

[Scene: a dark corridor in the Black City castle] 

Neal leaned his quarterstaff against the wall and readied his slingshot. He had sensed from his own opal that Joren meant to meet him. Yet, checking his opal again, it indicated that Joren hadn't moved from his initial spot. And it didn't even feel like Joren. He didn't know how he could tell the difference. The magic Selirithel had shown them was just as confusing as all the other things from Enishijirou.

He prayed to the gods that the blond hadn't been eaten by any sort of creature that would come after Neal as dessert.

After a while, he thought he heard an almost inaudible sound. Footsteps? No, not just that. Someone who knew how to hide any noise of walking. It wasn't quite perfect. It was sloppy, distracted. Neal frowned. He put back the lead pellet into his black pouch and drew a different projectile from his other pouch. He put it in the slingshot, pointed it in the darkness, and let it fly.

"ARGH! I am _so_ tired of being shot in the ass with berries!" a familiar voice bellowed angrily.

Neal snorted mirthfully. "Really? Interesting! I thought you would be used to being smacked in the ass, dude… Ow!" He screamed when Joren came out of the shadows and started to twist Neal's arm behind his back. "Okay, okay! Uncle! Uncle!"

~~

[Scene: another dark corridor in the castle…] 

"Quick! Burn them! Behead them!" Liam shouted.

"Die!" one of the succubae screamed as she yanked the knives from her legs and prepared to strike with the blades in her hands. 

Joren turned quickly and swung his sword forward. Thanks to the previous wounds in her legs, she could not move fast enough. The blade cut into her flesh easier than he had expected. He put his weight behind the blow and took the head clean off.

A spray of blood hit him in the face. He closed his eyes and turned away as the body fell to the ground, the severed head rolling across the floor away from him. He wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and averted his eyes from the fresh crimson pool.

"That actually tasted like cherries," he remarked.

Neal frowned. "Really? I could have sworn it was raspberry." He licked his fingers for more blood. "Wow. You're right. It _is_ cherries."

"CUT!" the director yelled. "Please don't comment on the fake blood, guys! Just do the scene!"

"Yum," Neal smiled as he continued licking his fingers. 

~~

_Episode 15: The Quest_

[Scene: Black City castle, corridor outside the hostage room] 

Selirithel leaned toward one of the guards. He whispered, "Give me the key to this room."

The guard continued glancing up and down the hall as he was doing before, but his hand had a mind of its own. It reached for the key ring on his belt and sorted through each until it found the correct one. He handed the key, still attached to the ring, to the sorcerer.

Deftly inserting the key in the lock and turning it, he turned to face Borealize. "Go in front of me. Put your dagger away, though."

Borealize, far past willing to question anything anymore, sheathed his dagger. He kept one hand on Selirithel's arm, careful not to break contact as he pushed the door open. He soon understood why his comrade had asked him to enter first.

"Viva la revolution!" a man screamed as he tried to hit Borealize with the broken top of a chair. 

"Weren't you supposed to say 'Die, asshole'?" Borealize asked as he blocked the blow.

"Oh yeah…"

~~

_Episode 16: Breath of Fire_

[Scene: caverns]

The men dismounted from the wolves and drew their own blades and points. They began to thoroughly clear the grooves from all the dirt. Shinkokami was right. The grooves went deeper, almost making it seem as if the fire was a puzzle piece that could not be rotated or shifted, merely pushed into place. The stone gave off waves of heat, but no one dared to shed a single garment. They all knew that they needed the barrier of cloth as protection. Even the wolves shied away into the shadows for coolness.

Joren examined their work. "We should try pushing this through."

"And burn our hands off, sure," Cleon rolled his eyes.

The blond glared at him. He studied the wall, then the ground they stood upon. Finally, he laid a hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'll brace against you and push with my feet. You two do the same."

"Why can't I be paired with Shinko?" Neal complained.

"Perhaps Master Stone would be jealous," Shinkokami slyly commented.

Joren glared at her. "You _must_ have a death wish."

~~

[Scene: cavern tunnels]

"I think we found Kennan," Joren muttered, trying to ignore the chilly pinpricks he felt in his limbs. Whatever it was, it was as cold as the snow outside. "Grab onto me!"

Neal and Shinkokami both latched onto his arm before the rest of him disappeared into the wall. It was like seeing him disappear into a quicksand trap. As unnerved as they were, they held onto him. And soon, they were swallowed as well. It happened all very fast. One second, they were standing in the wide chamber feeling the heat from the lava pool. The next, they were yanked into the frigid unknown.

It felt as if they were passing through a bubble. It was a pleasant sensation. A cool wave crashed over them. And as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving them colder than before. It was like stepping out of a pool and shivering when the wind blew across the skin. In fact, they _were_ slightly wet. All their clothes were damp and moisture stuck to their skin. They stood in a new cave now, almost a mirror of the place they had been in seconds before. The only exception was the lack of an entry leading to the lava filled cave.

And it was very dark.

Joren struck a match on the heel of his boot and held it up. "You couldn't grab the lantern?"

"Well, we were somewhat distracted by your finely toned butt," Shinkokami answered.

Neal hissed. "Sheesh! What is it with you? You are the most dirty minded woman I've ever met!" He paused. "No wonder my character's in love with you. Too bad you get killed off at the end of the episode."

Her eyes widened. "I _what_?"

"Uh… no one told you?" he squeaked.

"Nice going, Queenscove," Joren muttered.

~~

_Episode 17: Alternative_

[Scene: infirmary]

"You're awake!" Kel exclaimed the next morning. She set down the bowl and washcloth she had been carrying and ran the rest of the way to his side. "How do you feel?"

Faleron smiled at her weakly. "Could be worse." He grimaced. "I'm going to assume that I have no dignity since my clothes are gone. So, with shame removed from the equation, would you mind helping me with the bedpan?"

"My mother always told me not on the first date," Keladry informed prissily.

"…"

~~

_Episode 18: Dragon War_

[Scene:  Black City castle]

"I need to find a way to sneak them out. Can you keep those guards distracted?"

Keladry frowned. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

He thought about it for a moment. Then he bent toward her and whispered in her ear. For a few moments, Keladry's face was blank. Then her expression turned into that of revulsion.

She slapped him.

"Ow! Come on, you're supposed to agree!" he bellowed.

"I want a script change!" Keladry screamed, turning bright red. "I am _not_ faking cramps!"

"Paycheck!" the director said discreetly while masking it with a cough. She glared at him.

~~

[Scene: Black Castle corridor]

The blunt end of a broom came down hard on the back of Conal's skull. He crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. Joren watched indifferently as the new arrival picked up the torch and cursed as he accidentally burnt himself with the sparks.

"You," Joren sighed, "must be Inness."

The young man nodded. "Sorry I'm late." He glanced down at his own black robes and back up at Joren, the corner of his eyes almost twinkling in the reddish light. "Couldn't find a darn thing to wear."

"I see."

"You must be this Joren Stone she's secretly gushing about. How's my sister? Virginal, still?"

"If by virginal you mean out-of-control, raging sex kitten, than sure—"

"CUT!"

Joren smirked. He faked an innocent expression. "What?"

~~

_Episode 19: Sin_

[Scene: Keladry's prisoner tent]

Suddenly, the tent flap was flung aside as a lone soldier in full armor entered with a large metal basin. She noticed how he was conveniently unarmed—a precaution taken probably to prevent Keladry from using those weapons against him. He tossed the child-sized basin in front of her and went back outside. Returning again, he began pouring two large buckets of cold water into the metal brass basin.  It occurred to Keladry that she would simply have to dip a cloth into the water and sponge-bathe herself. Inconvenient, yes, but Keladry wanted to wash the days of sweat and dirt off her body.

She studied her "bath attendant" warily. He didn't appear as if he was going to leave any time soon. "Get out. I'm not going to entertain you, if that's what you're thinking."

The soldier waved a crumpled dollar bill at her and began whistling catcalls.

"Joren!" she cried indignantly and threw the tub at him.

~~

[Scene: still in the tent…]

"Joren!" she whispered furiously, standing up immediately with a red face. She nimbly jumped over the basin and forcibly shoved back the helmet visor to confirm her suspicions. "You _jerk_! This whole time, you've been—"

"Penetrating army security and looking for a way to get in touch with you, yes," he finished, the corner of his lips tugging upward into a crooked smile. "I've actually been receiving information from Inness. He's leaking as much information as he can, but they limit his knowledge. Conal is making sure of that." His eyes wandered below her face.

Keladry remembered that she was still only wearing her undergarments and immediately crossed her arms over her chest. "Turn around."

"Why? It's not like you haven't seen _me_ in my skivvies before," he replied with a shrug. He frowned. "Cut! What the hell are skivvies? I don't say skivvies! Faleron says skivvies!"

"How would you know I say skivvies?" Faleron protested from off set.

"Because I _don't_ wear skivvies!"

Faleron snorted. "Ah. So you admit to not wearing anything at all. Keladry! Could you confirm this for us?"

She blushed beet red.

~~

[Scene: Enishijirou]

It took only a short time for him to reach the edge of the fertile green valley. Many of the shepherds were sitting on the rocks, eating their lunches when he passed them on the back of a thoroughbred horse. At last, he found himself watching the wind move through the grass like waves in the ocean. The effect was hypnotizing, but he could never forget why he had been brought down there in the first place.

Eventually, his blond counterpart trotted toward him on the back of a large wolf. The beastly mount seemed very tired from a distance. When it saw Liam, it also stopped and even lowered itself to the ground.

Liam urged his horse a bit closer. "Get on," he commanded in an emotionless voice. "Looks like he needs a rest."

"Woo-hoo!" Neal called from off set. "Sharing a saddle! Yee-haw! That's what I'm talking about!"

"_Someone shoot him_!" Joren and Liam simultaneously yelled.

~~

[Scene: Enishijirou infirmary]

When they were out of earshot, Joren entered the infirmary, being as quiet as a mouse. The infirmary was a lot cleaner than the one in the castle of the Black City. Fist-sized crystals imbedded in the walls lit the entire room. There were rows of white beds partitioned by opaque curtains made of material that almost looked like the delicate strands of spider web. Joren decided not to investigate further.

Two women and a man, all dressed in white hakamas and overrobes, were seated or standing around a bed near the window. The nearest woman stood and bowed to Joren. Her many golden earrings made a tinkling noise similar to bells. The sound irritated him.

"What's his status?" he asked, glaring at the healers as if they were the cause for all the pain and suffering he'd seen.

"He's putting on a lot of weight. Does he eat a lot of junk food? Unnecessary sugar? I'd like to put him on a diet," she replied.

"No! NO!" Faleron cried. "Don't take away my sugar!" A little more calmly, he continued. "Besides. I'm not putting on weight. Even if I am, Fia just says they're love-handles…"

Joren shuddered. "Ew."

~~

_Episode 20: Slaying_

[Scene: Enishijirou infirmary]

Liam smirked. "You're not the only special one around here, Stone." He turned to Cleon. "And you. I have a job for you."

Cleon gulped. "M-me?"

The hit man gestured toward the door. "The fight isn't over yet. Our men are driving back the surviving forces of the Black City, though, so it is only a matter of time."

The redhead shook his head vigorously. He worriedly looked to his friend's unconscious form on the infirmary bed. "Well, that's great, but I can't do it. I'm not good at jobs! Stone will tell you!" He held his hand out to Joren. "Tell him, dude! I suck at jobs."

Joren considered it. He shrugged. "Suck… Well  yes, he does like to suck."

Cleon blinked. "Please tell me you weren't trying to reference that to what I think it was."

"I wasn't," Joren narrowed his eyes. "Kennan, you are an incorrigible pervert."

The sharpshooter's face turned as red as his hair.

~~

[Scene: battlefield]

Meanwhile, on the other side of the valley, Joren sat down beside Inness. The older Mindelan was kneeling on the grass beside a still form covered with a black cloak. He glanced at Joren, trying to keep his face down turned so as to hide the tears that were streaming down his face still after so many hours. 

Joren peered at the cloak as if he could see right through it. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed regretfully. "What happened?"

Inness sniffled. "I left him just for a few minutes! I was trying to get help, but when I returned… he was a few feet away from where I had left him. I think he'd been trying to get back to Maggur and the other advisors and… and…"

"It's okay. Take your time," Joren told him quietly.

The grieving young man picked up a bloodied weapon from the grass beside his knee. He handed the dagger to Joren.

"I found this in his chest."

"A spatula?"

Inness chuckled nervously and snatched back the bloodied weapon. "Oops. Wrong one. Here it is." He reached into his wrist and thrust out the weapon to Joren blade first, effectively slicing the blond's hand.

"Hey!" Joren cried, snatching his hand back. "You cut me!"

"Oopsies! Sorry again." He reached into his robes and pulled out a large medical chest that seemed too big to fit under his robes. He whistled as he opened it up and looked for bandages.

"Hmm. Nope. Oh well. Guess you'll just have to bleed to death," he told Joren.

"You… are so…dead…"

~~

_Episode 21: Lost Horizon_

[Scene: infirmary]

He rubbed his Adam's apple, clearing his throat. What he wouldn't give for a glass of whiskey at that very moment. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would calm his nerves at least.

Cleon glanced at him knowingly from the corner of his eyes. "There's a hip flask in Fal's pack."

Almost reflexively, Joren reached under the bed for the ill man's pack. "You losers have been around me for too long if you know me that well." He paused when his hand closed around the sought item. "What the hell was he doing with this anyway?"

"He's always been a man of many surprises," Cleon admitted. 

Joren rolled his eyes and took a swig from the flask. His face scrunched up. "This isn't alcohol. It's apple juice!"

"That's what _you_ think," Cleon replied.

Joren proceeded to beat the other man on the head with the flask.

~~

[Scene: a guest room]

She shoved her belongings aside as well and laid herself down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Keladry shut her eyes and placed her head on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I said I was, didn't I?"

"No, not that. About… your brother."

It was hard to say. She exhaled deeply and shifted closer to him. "I feel more hurt by his rejection of me and of Inness than of his passing. Does… does that make me a bad person?"

Joren's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't think you would actually admit it. Of course not, you stupid girl."

She punched him playfully in the side. He swatted her hand away and turned his head toward the window. Keladry frowned. She sat up.

"Is that… a bloody spatula?"

Joren turned to her, straight faced. "Yes. Yes, it is."

~~

[Scene: still the guest room…]

"Joren?" she called softly.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

He shut his eyes against his own indifference. "I know. I love…" he tried to force the word out. "Uh… that is… I love…" he glanced at her expectant face. "Your hair?"

"M-my hair?"

"Um, yeah! It's a very…" he struggled with the words. "Nice… style…"

She glared at him. "You love my _hair_?"

He turned away from her and rolled on his side. "Uh-huh. Well, look at the time! I gotta go!"

"Get back here!" she yelled at him. "You only love my _hair?!_"

"I think someone's calling me!" he said loudly as he made a hasty exit. 

"MY HAIR?!"

~~

[Scene: plane]

During the plane ride home, Joren waited until Keladry fell asleep to leave her side and join Neal at the front of the cabin. He picked up Neal's pack and tossed it across the aisle. Sitting down beside the slightly bemused man, he fixed him a suspicious stare.

"What did I do now?" Neal yawned, making very little effort to cover his mouth. He looked out the window. It was nighttime, but he still pretended to be able to see something.

Joren folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "What took you so long?"

"What are you talking about?"

"In the caverns," he clarified.

Neal nodded. He scratched his head drowsily and chuckled. He gave Joren a lazy grin and reached toward his partner's vest. Joren stayed still, eyes still trained on him as Neal slipped a smallish bottle from one of Joren's larger pockets.

"I see Higgins gave you a farewell gift, too," he observed, screwing off the lid and taking a sip. "Aww, jeez. This isn't alcohol either. Apple juice! Is the whole _world_ plotting against me getting a decent drink around here? I mean, come on!"

"I like apple juice," Neal interjected. "Give me that!"

"It's not apple juice," Cleon sang from off set.

Neal spat out the drink in Joren's face. "_What?_"

"…" Joren remained dangerously silent.

~~

[Scene: Joren's apartment]

His head jerked toward her, his brow creased in his curious expression. "What are you doing here?"

Keladry shrugged. "I was going to ask you to come with me to Tortall." She swallowed reflexively. "Why haven't you unpacked?"

He walked past her into his bedroom. He went straight for his closet and began sorting through his clothing. When he didn't answer her, she followed him and stood behind him. Something was terribly amiss, and she'd be damned if she didn't get him to tell her.

She repeated her question, sterner than before. Joren grudgingly turned to face her and offered her an impassive expression. "I'm running away and eloping with Liam."

Keladry's eye twitched.

The director screamed somewhere on the set.

Keladry rolled her eyes and began the walk to her trailer. "Well, screw this! I'm going to have a drink!"

Joren ran after her. "Wait for me! I need one, too!"

Cleon frowned and ran after him. "No! You all have to drink my apple juice!"

Neal shouted from his chair. "But it's _not_ apple juice, you sick-o!"

It was the boy who played Yahiko who crouched down beside the sniffling director on the floor and consoled him.

"S'okay, mister. There's always next season."

"NEXT season? Another season!" the director wailed. "Not another season! I can't take this anymore! Sulia Serafine, please just let me _die_ already!"

~~

Author:

: ) 

Life is good. I'll keep this short, since I'm kind of in a rush to do a million things I've had on the backburner. But I hope you enjoyed these bloopers and outtakes—actually, I hope you enjoyed the entire season! This one was kind of crazy. Very crazy. Extremely crazy.

But it wouldn't be ICBW if it weren't, right?

I'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed. I really appreciate the feedback! And yes, there's just _one_ more season in the works. *sniffle* ICBW is finally coming to an end. I hope you all have enjoyed the ride so far. It's been one of my best experiences.

So, while I'm on my short ICBW break, go out and read something cool… like… I don't know. Heck, go reread ICBW or something! Just kidding.

Ta ta!

Sulia S.


End file.
